A Place In The Heart
by RomildaV
Summary: All her life, Éponine Thénardier has had the strangest of dreams, dreams of red flags, cockades, barricades and raindrops but she never thought much of it until a day it all hit her as intensely as ever: the day she met Gabriel Enjolras. They feel they know each other – but how is that possible? Reincarnation – Modern College AU
1. We Will Wait In That Space

_All her life, Éponine Thénardier has had the strangest of dreams, dreams of red flags, cockades, barricades and raindrops but she never thought much of it until a day it all hit her as intensely as ever: the day she met Gabriel Enjolras. They feel they know each other – but how is that possible?_ Reincarnation – Modern College AU

**A Place In The Heart**

_there is a place in the heart that  
will never be filled_

_a space_

_and even during the  
best moments  
and  
the greatest times  
times_

_we will know it_

_we will know it  
more than  
ever_

_there is a place in the heart that  
will never be filled  
and_

_we will wait  
and_

_wait  
in that space._

_(Charles Bukowski)_

"It just seems a bit out of place is all" said Éponine with a small frown on her heart shaped face. They have been standing in the furniture store for a significant amount of time or so it would seem, thought Éponine, as she looked at Cosette's face. Her friend's expression was somewhat tired and weary. _That's odd_, she thought, _she's usually up for some shopping, who would've known that picking out a bookshelf would wear her out like this_.

"A bit out of place?!" Cosette's voice sounded annoyed as she repeated Éponine's words, although - unlike her friend - she wasn't really up for a nice little argument. "My sweet Éponine, for the third time, this bookshelf is just as perfect and suitable as was the one before this or the one before that! Just PICK ONE ALREADY, WILL YOU?"

"Jesus Christ, no need to shout," Éponine rolled her eyes. "But really, Cosette, are you gonna be all whiny now. You should be a little more sympathetic about such matters; after all I'm picking out a BOOKSHELF. A MAGICAL PLACE TO STORE MY BOOKS ON. THIS MIGHT BE THE MOST IMPORTANT DECISION I SHALL EVER MAKE.

"I hate it how one second you sound like the Queen of England and turn into a five year old My Little Pony the next."

"Naah." winked Éponine playfully. "You love it and you know it. But," Her tone became more serious as she turned her head toward her bookshelf-to-be. "Back to our problem. As I stated before, I'm still not sure about this one here. How do you think my Dickens-collection would look like on it?" She tilted her head.

There was no answer. When Éponine glanced at Cosette, her friend's disapproving, but almost blank expression said it all. She was a nerd, a complete weirdo. "You need a boyfriend." She added.

Éponine's cheeks turned slightly red, she hated when people said that. It was easier said than done. "Why, thanks for the advice, Cosette, very well spotted. Let me just go to the Boyfriend Store and get one of those."

"Yeah, well, if you spend as much time picking out a guy as you do a bookshelf, I'm not gonna accompany you, just so you know." Cosette shook her head, turning a page in her magazine without as much as a glance at it. She let out a sigh as if she could feel the weight of the world on her shoulders. "Come on, 'Ponine, you meet guys every day! It's not that hard making one of them date you."

Éponine covered her face with her hands. She didn't like this high-minded talk from Cosette, who, ever since she started dating her first ever boyfriend, acted like she knew everything about romance, even though her story was pretty much like Lily's and Marshall's from How I Met Your Mother - the day Cosette and Éponine moved into town and Cosette went out to pick up some dinner, she ran into Marius Pontmercy, a rich and handsome sophomore. "It was love at first sight." They would tell everyone in a cheesy and cliché way that made Éponine's stomach twitch. They were a disgustingly beautiful couple with their matching colors and finishing each other's sentences and telling the other to hang up first - ugh, but Cosette of all people, who basically had her love life handed to her on a silver plate, was not allowed to talk to her like that.

But there was no point in pointing that out to Cosette. As she took an observant look at her, all Éponine could see was innocence and well-meaning. She didn't even have to wear one of those 'My name is Cosette, I'm here to help' badges, it was all written on her face. Of course, Cosette tended to be a little shallow and way too girly for Éponine's taste sometimes, but she was her best friend. Her only friend, as a matter of fact. The one that has always been there for her ever since she moved to the house that was just across the street from Cosette's. She stood up for Éponine, was kind to her when everyone else pushed her away and understood her in a way nobody else could.

With Cosette a comforting darkness would come and envelope her, wrapping her in its cool silence. She could be hidden, she could feel light and easy, not having to mind the world, not having to worry about his father being drunk somewhere, not having to see her mother's shaking hand. With Cosette it was always hiding around in that beautiful darkness and there it was just the two of them, two little girls playing in her all-pink bedroom, where Éponine's father's drunken screams and her mother's desperate cries would never reach her.

She could still recall the first time Cosette saw her bruises as if it was yesterday. Her rosy, chubby face went dark, and a helpless, knowing expression took over. Her hands reached out so that by her touch the scars and marks on Éponine's back would be proven to be real or fade away like a dream. "Oh, 'Ponine," she whispered unhappily. "We have to tell somebody."

"_You can't!_" said Éponine. She grabbed Cosette's hand and squeezed it tight. Panic ran through her face, real, deep horror. "You can't say anything to anybody, this – this would kill my mum, Cosette, _please_!"

"But-"

"No, promise me, Cosette. Promise me."

"Okay," she replied nodding. She swallowed hard. "I promise."

And even though they never talked about it openly for years, silent gestures made Éponine sure that Cosette watched out for her; she would be invited to stay over more frequently now, and Cosette's father would drive her to school every morning.

But time flew and Éponine and Cosette changed a lot through the years. Cosette was no longer the chubby-faced 10 year old with messy, fair hair, and Éponine wasn't the silent, helpless child with desperation in her eyes either. She grew to be stronger and more independent; she came to realize that what was happening to her as a child was wrong and confronted her parents about it. Her mother's face went as white as a sheet and her father found no words – presumably for the first time in his life. He didn't tell her she a useless little bitch and didn't hit her like he had occasionally. He just sat there and so did she – in the heaviest of silence.

She moved out the next day, looking back at her house feeling emptied out, but she was never alone; Cosette was always there, watching her back. She was sort of like William Herondale: she would talk shit all the time, but when things got serious, she was always to be counted on.

One might have said that Éponine grew up too early. Getting a job and an apartment at the age of seventeen really does sound like a stressful experience, but then again, that's what had made Éponine who she was in the first place. She felt more comfortable in her skin now, being the person that she was always meant to be; smart, witty, spending her Fridays picking out a bookshelf… It felt right, being this person. It gave her more confidence.

What _didn't_ give her confidence, on the other hand, were the visions, dreams floating in her head 24/7. All her life, every time she went to sleep, these vague shadows crept up on her, crawling in her head, pulling her in to a world of smoke, fire and red. This world felt so real and consuming; she could almost reach her hand out and touch it… But then the dreams ended and she was back in real life. Her life. Something was utterly familiar about these dreams, like she was a part of it and somehow knew every single fragment of it – what it was that made her feel this way she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Even though she didn't remember much of the dreams in the morning, there was one figure that always stood out. A boy… or man, who was the eternal part of the images flipping through her head. The man with the blonde, curly locks and the determined expression on his face burned into her mind like the lyrics of a song that she didn't even have to listen to, the words would just come back to her the next time she thought about it.

She tried to tell someone about these dreams but besides her guidance counselor nobody seemed to care and it was rather awkward telling Ms. Adams about _the guy of his dreams. _Éponine shuddered even thinking about this phrase – it was stupid and cliché and a little out of character, she could tell by seeing Ms. Adams's frown as she got into the story so eventually she just shut up about it. It was silly, actually. The man was completely imaginary, a figment of her imagination – what a fine imagination she had! Maybe she should just write a book or learn how to draw or something. A face like his should be captured; too bad Éponine didn't possess such talents to do so.

And then the visions started fading away. She didn't remember dreaming about the smoke and the red, and it was harder and harder for her to picture him – because she was that pathetic, lonely girl who was so alone she took her time of the day to take these little, broken pieces in her mind and put them together so she could have a full image of him inside her. She didn't know who he was. Undefined, without a name. He could've almost sink into non-existence, into the black soup of nothingness; but he had a face, which meant he had to have bones and flesh covered those bones and there was a mind in there and a soul, and words came from those lips in a voice so – what? Did he speak in a tender whisper or a shout? She did not know, but she was certain, she had to be; she had to believe that somehow he was real or important. Because if she thought about him being a shapeless part of her mind then it was all nothing but meaningless dreams, and she felt more alone than ever.

Her actual love life was devastating. Apart from the faint shadow of the dream guy, there was no man in her life. For a period of time that seemed tragically long and painful, she thought herself to fancy Marius, Cosette's boyfriend, and hated herself for it. She already had been convinced that she was a bad person, but liking her best friend's guy just made matters worse. She used to blush and have difficulties speaking when Marius was around – she was childish, hopeful and stupid.

But of course, it was nothing but a fancy, a crush – this is what the kids are calling it these days, right? It was bound to go away eventually, and for weeks now, Éponine felt more at ease in the presence of said Marius; it must have meant that her feelings, as it were, were going away.

She was rambling and got carried away in her thoughts, she realized as she looked up from her hands and at Cosette, who was staring at her knowingly with one eyebrow up.

"What?"

"I said why don't you ever do young things? You know, with young people?" Cosette asked with a smile, as she was used to Éponine being wrapped up in her thoughts.

"I already agreed to go to Marius's party with you, didn't I?" Éponine murmured, blushing as she spoke.

"It's not a party, really, as I know that word frightens you, it's more like a friendly… gathering." Her friend replied, waving her hands as she rephrased the word.

"A friendly gathering, huh? Sounding really posh there, Cosette." Éponine laughed, and Cosette hit her lightly on the back.

"Shut up."

"So," inquired the shop assistant now walking towards them, "have you made up your mind?"

"Well," started Éponine, observing the bookshelf, tilting her head slightly, "I'm not sure about this one here. Can I have a few more minutes?"

Cosette's unhappy moan echoed in her ears for several minutes to come.

oOo

As it turned out, it really was just a friendly gathering. Apart from Marius, there were like four other guys there. They all seemed really nice and it looked like they had a thing about laughing in unison when one of them did something stupid. Like, _really_, really loud.

Éponine was scared that she wouldn't be able to catch their names, but Les Amis (as they called themselves, how fancy) were the kind of people who would call each other on the names every five minutes, so Éponine had time to adjust and match the names with the faces.

There was Joly, who kindly asked Éponine if she could wash her hands before he shook them (she tried not to feel too offended), Combeferre, who wasn't mad when she unfortunately spilled her water on his shirt, Courfeyrac, who tried to wink at her but somehow only managed to blink ("I'm still learning, okay?!"). And there was Grantaire, who didn't look like he was going to put his bottle down any time soon. He smiled a lot – he had a kind of fearless, ear-to-ear smile that Éponine found endearing. She was sitting on the couch a few minutes after she arrived when Grantaire walked up to her.

"So, Éponine," he started like they were long-time friends, "We heard a lot about you from Cosette."

"Nothing good, I hope." She nodded smiling. Grantaire returned her smile.

"Naah, just the boring stuff. But enough to make me want to know more. Let's talk real here, 'kay?" He winked at her playfully. She nodded as a response, wanting to know what he meant.

"What is… your favorite color?" he asked with a dramatic delay, his tone dead serious. Nevertheless, it was a question that made Éponine think. Nobody asked her this since fourth grade, really.

"Um… black, I guess?" She shrugged. Grantaire turned his head toward her in disbelief. Éponine gave her a blank look.

"Really? _Black_ is your favorite color?"

"Yep. Why?"

"It's just – nobody ever says 'black' to this question. They say blue or red or green or _pink_." He stopped here, silently telling her how much he despised this color. „But nobody ever says black."

"Well, I like black, despite all the things you just said." replied Éponine in an amused voice.

"Well, yeah, I mean, black is nice. You know, it's the color of…" Grantaire clearly didn't know how to finish this sentence and looked at Éponine for help. "I was gonna go with the color of the sky but obviously that's not gonna work here…"

"The color of…" He started again.

"… despair?" She helped. Grantaire nodded and put a thumb up with a kind of 'nailed it' expression in his eyes.

"Nice. Kinda depressing, but yeah. See, this is a good question, it says a lot about you."

"Thanks." She said trying to put as much irony in that one word as possible. Grantaire laughed.

"Oh, you know what I mean. 'Kay, what else? Do you like to take long walks in the sunset? Do you like to cuddle? What is your favorite ice cream flavor? Have you ever loved a fictional character so much that you started to cry? Do you ever eat with your hands only?"

"Do you ever shut up?" She asked, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Huh!" He gasped, pretending to be offended. "Did we just become best friends?"

She smiled and opened her mouth to answer Grantaire, when a short, but definite knock interrupted her. She looked around curiously, seeing Marius standing up.

"I'm coming." He shouted, clapping his hands once.

"I'm soaking wet, idiot, you might want to hurry up there." Came the grumpy response through the door.

"It's all your fault, you know, why didn't you arrive with the rest, _before_ it started raining?"

"I was busy!" Snapped the voice – a low, male voice, but with a nice ring to it, decided Éponine.

"Saving the world again, I know." Marius laughed, and opened the front door, finally letting his friend in – and Éponine's heart stopped. Her eyes must have been playing a trick on her, for sure, but – no! _It was him_. The man she has been dreaming of all this time. It was _him_. He was _here_.

"You took your time." He commented as he took off his wet coat. He looked around briefly and rolled his eyes. "Seems like a fun party."

"IT'S A FRIENDLY GATHERING." Shouted Les Amis in unison, and then started laughing hysterically. But Éponine didn't laugh. She gasped, because she came to realize that not only was he here, but now by looking at his face she knew what his name was - and that terrified her greatly. _Enjolras_ – a voice said in her mind yearningly. Enjolras. Enjolras. Enjolras.

As he only rolled his eyes again, that seemed to be his thing, he went to the couch to sit next to Grantaire.

"Grantaire, my friend, you're drinking ag-" He cut off midsentence, with a horrified look on his beautiful face. Éponine swallowed hard, her throat was as dry as ever, blood pumped in her ears, her heartbeat was so fast and loud she was scared she might get a stroke. His eyes were boring into hers; his was a burning gaze that almost set her on fire. They looked at each other like that for a while, not knowing if it had been minutes or a whole day.

When Enjolras finally looked away, his cheeks were flustered and his skin was burning. One word was on his mind. _Éponine._


	2. Outbursts Of Soul

„_He was subject to unexpected outbursts of soul." _(Victor Hugo describing Enjolras in Les Misérables)

As Grantaire sat there on the couch between Enjolras and Éponine, he realized he had never felt more uncomfortable in his life. The rest of the room didn't seem to notice the awkward tension that was happening in the couch area, and kept on talking casually, as if their friend's arrival didn't make a difference. But oh _boy_, were they wrong. The air always did change when Enjolras was around; his figure brought something fragrant and intoxicating to the air that made Grantaire want to rise and stand as close to him as possible, but only managed to kneel clumsily in Enjolras's graceful shadow, firmness, faith and honesty radiating from him. Without understanding it clearly, and without trying to explain it to himself, that chaste, healthy, firm, direct, hard, honest nature charmed Grantaire.

But now it was more than the usual change of air. He sensed that as soon as Enjolras stepped in, the girl sitting next to him tensed. As Grantaire glanced at Éponine he saw her cheeks burning, eyes widened. She was gaping at Enjolras like she had never seen a human being before. Grantaire frowned; sure, it was not the first time he had seen a girl looking at his friend this way yet something still seemed off about this situation. And then he realized; he looked to his left and found a mess that was one Éponine, slightly shook his head and took a glance to his right only to find Enjolras in a similar state. Shock ran through his veins, hitting him like a cold shower. What should he make out of this situation? He could at least try to continue like nothing happened.

"Yes." He finally blurted out with his eyes glowing, straightening himself.

"What." Asked Enjolras under his breath, forcing himself not to look in Grantaire's direction.

"You asked me, Enjolras, whether or not I am drinking again, and my answer is yes. I am drinking again." Grantaire rose his bottle for everyone to see. "Actually, now that I come to think about it, this is like my third bottle tonight, so it would be more precise to say that I am drinking still."

No response came. That was it, Grantaire thought. The conversation was dead. Well, he did his best.

"Right, okay. So Éponine, this is my friend Enjolras, Enjolras, this is Éponine, Cosette's friend." He said, waving his hands. "But why do I get the feeling that it was completely unnecessary for me to introduce you two."

And with that, Enjolras stood up, leaving the room in a rush. "I need some air." He murmured. Both Grantaire and Éponine watched him walk away wearing a grimace on their faces. He sighed, he just knew he wasn't getting any answers about what just went on between the three of them and he knew better than to ask questions. All these years he had known Enjolras Grantaire found it rather difficult, if not impossible to get close to him. Enjolras never allured himself in the mundane things Grantaire surrounded himself with. He had strict rules about what he imagined friendship to be like, so of course Grantaire broke each and every one of them, seeking his reaction, laughing at him. He didn't quite understand Enjolras; at times it felt like his friend was a couple inches above the ground, floating, and at other times he was so down to earth it made Grantaire feel that he was in the clouds. He knew that behind his strict looks and serious expression there was a human side of Enjolras that was just waiting for something or _someone_ to set that part of him free.

He now glanced at Éponine. He found her a pleasant, entertaining girl, but got the feeling she was much more complicated than that – and he was considered a good judge of character, by himself at least. There was something about the girl that made him think of a shy little bird that could fly ever so prettily when its wings were spread but could be scared off just as easily.

Could it be that Enjolras and this girl – but Enjolras didn't even like girls as far Grantaire was concerned, although he was not sure what he _did_ like. Justice, maybe. And pretentious speeches but not girls. But the way he stormed out…

Maybe he just felt nauseous. Maybe he and Éponine ate at the same diner 12 hours earlier and the effects of the food poisoning were kicking in now at the same time…

_Dude, you have to stop._

"So, Éponine," he turned toward her. "Do you happen to have somewhere to be as well?"

Éponine didn't answer but nodded slowly. "I have to go to the bathroom."

Yeah, it's gotta be food poisoning. The moment Éponine left the room Cosette made her way to the couch and sat next to Grantaire.

"Well, that was weird." She said, referring to their friends.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "You noticed?"

"I'm a woman, Grantaire, of course I noticed." Cosette said fussily and let out a rich sigh. She ran her fingers through her blonde, princess-like hair. "And so have you, apparently."

"Oh, Cosette," replied Grantaire mockingly, imitating her voice, "my mother was a woman. Of course I noticed."

"Massive eye-roll!"

"Are you serious right now? Instead of actually rolling your eyes, you only describe the act? I fear for your generation."

"You think they know each other though? Enjolras and Éponine?" Cosette tried to change the subject quickly and with success. Grantaire narrowed his eyes.

"Doubt it. Enjolras prefers not to know girls, unless they are somehow forced on him like cholera or that annoying piece of chewing gum you step in and can't get off."

"So kind of like me, then."

He grinned at her. "Yeah, kinda like you. No offense."

"None taken." She said smiling and sighed again – she was a sighing kind of person – as she got to her feet.

"Is _everyone_ leaving me today?" Grantaire said, pumping his fist in the air. "Where do you think you're going?"

"To seek a Great Perhaps." Cosette replied with a mysterious smile over her shoulder. Grantaire let out a shaky, frustrated sigh and acknowledged that Cosette's stupid habit was infectious.

oOo

Breathless. Éponine was completely breathless, as if all the sweet air got sucked out of the room as he entered. The bathroom was spinning around her; all she saw were undefined shapes bursting with colors, yet somehow she found herself in the mirror above the washbasin and let out a choking sound. Her face didn't seem, didn't feel her own. _Is that what I look like_, a voice screamed in her head as she touched her eyes, nose, mouth, feeling, examining her features. No. It _is_ me. _And it's him_, she whispered aloud under her breath. Finally, the room stopped spinning. Éponine sat on the toilet, suddenly seeing everything oh so clear. The guy from her dreams, the beautiful man with the golden hair and the bluest eyes was there. It was him – Enjolras. She said his name a couple of times, like she was practicing it.

Her hands were shaking. This was impossible, all of it. He, Enjolras, the guy she was sure she had never met before except in her dreams was in the same apartment as she, breathing the same air. And she knew his name before they were introduced. She buried her face in her hands. It was like the universe was playing some sick joke on her. Éponine gasped feeling a strong throbbing pain in the back of head and she went blind for a second, seeing and feeling nothing but Enjolras – Enjolras waving a burning red flag, Enjolras firing a gun, his tall, muscular figure standing fiercely in the rain, standing on the top of a huge pile of tables and chairs and – nothing. It was like her mind was the stormy ocean and someone was drowning in it, her memories kept trying to swim to the surface for breath but not being able to reach through. She took a sharp breath. What was wrong with her?

Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.

"Éponine? You okay in there?" It was Cosette. Oh, God, she needed to calm down.

"Um, yeah?" She shouted, trying to regain her normal tone. "I'll be out in a minute, just feeling a bit dizzy."

"Sure." Cosette answered after a short pause. "Take your time."

Éponine heard Cosette walking away and sighed in relief. She washed her face; the water felt like a calming, refreshing caress against her skin. She observed her reflection with great care and came to the conclusion that you couldn't tell that she had been crying. She nodded contentedly. "Keep your shit together." She whispered to herself.

oOo

As Enjolras sat on the cold stone of Marius's balcony and took the night view of the city in, he felt a shiver run through his spine. It was still raining, but strangely he didn't mind it this time; it helped him calm down and regain control over his thoughts, but it was harder than he thought it would be. He kept getting these strikes of pain in his head, seeing images that weren't there, that were never there. Éponine, Éponine, Éponine – it felt like his heart was now pounding to the rhythm of her name, feeding on it, breathing it. The dimples she had when she smiled, her petite figure, bruises on her neck – all he ever saw was her and she was nothing and he eventually put up with that. But now she suddenly became somebody, she became real and she had a name. A name he knew immediately as he laid eyes on her and now it felt like the only word that made sense, the only one that felt familiar. God, this was insane, completely impossible. Maybe he was having a psychotic episode, he thought. After all, Combeferre did always say that it would happen eventually.

_The man made of marble_, he had said from time to time jokingly, _you are bound to break, my friend._

And now Enjolras could actually feel the cracks running through him, starting with his head and then drowning his heart, cold blood in his veins. Éponine, Éponine, Éponine.

Damn it, this needed to stop. What the hell was going on with him? How could she be real? _How could she be there? _He now had the strangest urge to go inside and touch each and every part of her face to see if she was in fact real or just make-believe. He thought about all those times when her image randomly popped up in his mind, and he had to force himself not to think about her, to lock her away, but with her went everyone else too. His friends were always a foot away from him, not quite reaching him, not quite seeing him as he was. But how was he, really?

He couldn't think of one person that would know him, the whole him, inside and out. Well, maybe Grantaire. He was his best friend, someone he's known as long as he could remember. He trusted him, and felt quite protective over him, as, he imagined, someone would feel toward a little brother.

And with that, Grantaire appeared right on cue. Speaking of the devil, Enjolras thought. His friend's eyes were glowing really bright; Enjolras would've bet his life that he was highly intoxicated.

"What you doing out here, Enjolras?" Grantaire asked in an amused voice.

Enjolras hesitated before he gave an answer.

"Grantaire," he called in an unsteady tone, "you know me, right?"

Grantaire froze. Never in his life has he seen Enjolras in such a state; his face pale as a sheet, messy hair and a dark look in his eyes. He spoke in a low voice which meant only one thing; he was genuinely upset. Grantaire frowned – images entered his mind; when he first met Enjolras, shit, almost 8 eight years ago in a library where he went in because he had to pee. He could still see Enjolras's despising look as if it was yesterday. They went to the same school, even took the same classes for a while, and that is how they became friends in the first place. Enjolras let Grantaire follow him around while he himself pretended he was around him by chance. Beside Enjolras Grantaire became somebody again. But did that mean he knew him as well? How can you know another person entirely, if you cannot read their minds, get under their skin, see the world with their eyes? Grantaire found that such definition of knowing someone was impossible.

"Yes." He replied softly. "I know you."

Enjolras looked at his friend and gave a grateful half smile. Grantaire returned it, feeling concerned for Enjolras. Their little moment was interrupted by Marius. He stepped out to the balcony, grinning wildly; he must have been having the time of his life.

"Still sulking because I didn't let you in right away?" He asked Enjolras, shaking his head in a playful, but disapproving way. "Come on, man, get over yourself! Come inside and enjoy the par- um, the friendly gathering, I mean."

_Yeah, Enjolras,_ he said to himself, feeling the irony of the whole situation, _get over yourself. You just saw the girl whom you have been dreaming about since birth. It happens to a lot of guys._

Inside everything was a blur and neither Éponine nor Enjolras could avoid looking at each other. Briefly eyeing the room, Éponine accidently met Enjolras's glance. Both of them shocked, they just stared at each other for a minute, not knowing what to do. His beautiful, dark blue eyes captivated Éponine and she felt she could sink in their depths. Realizing she had been looking at him long enough to make such a statement, she dropped her gaze, blushing, and looked in the opposite direction. But Enjolras was still watching her, for reasons unknown even by himself. _What's the point of looking at her_, he asked himself in a mocking voice, _when there is no feature on that face that you wouldn't already know?_

oOo

The next few days were bizarre and surreal, at least for Éponine. She decided she would never meet up with Les Amis ever again, but failed miserably, for Cosette kept inviting her along with the group of friends. Most of the time she just politely declined saying she had studying to do, which happened to be true. She spent most of the time studying for her classes, taking notes and trying to catch her breath. She didn't have time for such luxury as eating and sleeping during the week. But on the weekends she found herself all alone, due to making an excuse and counting her out of Cosette and Marius's invitations.

She then usually occupied herself by reading her favorite book, _Great Expectations_ over and over again, but when on a cloudy Saturday she caught herself mouthing the words without even having to look at the pages, it hit her: she needed to go out. She texted Cosette, and got a reply 3 seconds later.

_Meet me at Café Musain at 14.32.  
C_

Éponine slowly shook her head. Of course Cosette was so busy her day was scheduled down to the minute. She checked the time on her phone, it was twenty past two. Éponine simply shrugged and got ready, even though Café Musain was right around the corner she didn't mind getting there early – there was something extremely romantic in sitting by yourself at a café.

When she got there, she went straight up to the counter and smiled at Musichetta.

"Hey, 'Ponine." She greeted her cheerfully. "Your usual?"

She nodded and turned around, but was taken aback by seeing Enjolras sitting at her favorite spot with a book in his hand. "Shit." She whispered. Her heart was pounding loud in her chest, and she realized that it wasn't just because he was a person that he wished to avoid but because of how tragically beautiful he looked. With his shiny blonde hair and blue eyes he made an impression of a model. It was ridiculous, actually. Also, he was reading, which was one of the most attractive things in the world – a man who is reading a book. Éponine was dying to see the cover, but unfortunately he sat in an angle that made her peeking at it impossible.

"Checking out my baby, are we?" Asked Musichetta, by her voice Éponine could tell that she was smiling. Éponine stared at her in awe, feeling ashamed of getting caught staring at Enjolras.

"Your what?"

"Well, of course, technically he isn't." Musichetta corrected herself with a shrug. "But I like to refer to him this way."

"Why?" Asked Éponine, frowning.

Musichetta gave her a look that made her feel it was the dumbest question in the world. As she gestured towards Enjolras, Éponine started to understand why.

"Sometimes I just sit here at the counter and watch him." Musichetta explained in a dreamy voice. "And he's just there reading or brooding in a really sexy way, and then he walks up to me and asks for another coffee really calmly." She sighed here. "And I say sure, just a minute. Those moments make my day."

As Musichetta looked up and found Éponine staring at her with wide eyes, she burst out laughing.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm not in love with him or anything, he's just a fine piece of art I like to look at. All mysterious, you know, like a book with the most beautiful cover ever. I don't open it, I just stare at the cover art, drooling."

"But he's not a book or an object." Disagreed Éponine. "He's a human being."

"But is he?" Musichetta asked, raising an eyebrow.

Before Éponine could have answered her question – which was probably rhetorical, so never mind that – he heard someone calling her name. She turned around to find Grantaire waving her from the table where Enjolras and now he was sitting, trying to tell her to join them. God damn it. There was no way out. She quickly smiled at Musichetta goodbye and walked to the table. Grantaire was just sitting down, rubbing his face as if he was trying to wake himself up.

"You better tell me what was so important to make me meet you here, Enjolras." Grantaire said in a rather grumpy and sleepy voice. "I had to cancel my plans for this."

"What plans?" Asked Éponine, sounding genuinely curious. She tried not to acknowledge the fact that Enjolras was present as well.

"An afternoon nap and the newest episode of Scooby Doo that he had TiVo'd" Came the answer from not Grantaire, but from Enjolras. Éponine finally looked at him. His nose was still in his book, not even glancing up.

"Quit mocking me, man!" Grantaire snapped. "I was really looking forward to this episode!"

"Let me tell you exactly what it was about." Enjolras said, raising his voice, putting his book down – but unfortunately Éponine still couldn't make out the title. "A suspicious guy called Fred and the gang saying that there spooky phenomenon going on. They went down there to check it out, they decided to split up, Velma and Daphne going with Fred, and they Shaggy and Scooby – even though they are always the ones that get in trouble and are terrified of everything – are going alone. A lot of delicious food pops up out of nowhere, but Shaggy and Scooby don't seem to mind that. They eat a lot of sandwiches, and then Scooby runs into the monster, meanwhile Shaggy is completely oblivious to everything. Then they both get chased by said monster accompanied by fun music. Then they run into Fred, Velma and Daphne and now the whole gang gets chased by the monster accompanied by fun music. Then they all run into one room, come out of another, who the hell knows how that's even possible, I have no idea. Then Velma loses her glasses, the monster hands them to her, she goes: 'Jinkies!' and they get chased by the monster AGAIN. Then the monster slips, Fred pulls like 30 masks off it, and BAMM, it turns out to be the suspicious guy from the beginning. Then it's all fun and games until the next episode."

Silence followed his little speech. The three of them didn't really know what to make of what had just happened, until Grantaire looked at Enjolras, his eyes narrowed.

"How the hell do you know? Did you watch it without me?"

"No, Grantaire, I know what happened, because that's the plot of literally every Scooby Doo episode ever." Answered him Enjolras waving with his hands dramatically.

"Jesus Christ, no need to be a douche about it." Said Grantaire with a grimace on his face. He stood up. "I'm gonna head out and WATCH THE EPISODE MYSELF."

And with that he was gone. Enjolras followed Grantaire with his eyes, and when he turned back, he realized that it was just the two of them now. He and Éponine. She was looking at him with an unidentifiable expression on her face that made him blush – and felt incredibly ashamed immediately. Why did she make him blush?

He cleared his throat. "I can't tell if you're amazed or think I'm a lunatic."

"A little bit both, actually."

Now he seriously didn't know what to say to her. An awkward silence fell between them, suddenly being aware of the fact that they were almost strangers, and yet – something more. Enjolras didn't like the way her presence made him feel; the ache in head was coming back, his face was on fire, he didn't know where to look, because those eyes, her eyes consumed him entirely.

"You can go now." He said finally, and it came out a bit too harshly. Éponine narrowed her eyes.

"I wasn't going to stay anyway." She snapped, rising and storming out – or at least that's what Enjolras thought, when she came back to pick up his book violently, and then putting it back on the table.

"What was that?" He shouted.

"I JUST REALLY WANTED TO KNOW WHAT YOU WERE READING OKAY." She shouted back to him angrily, and then left the café for good to wait for Cosette outside.

Her heart was pounding violently.

He was reading _Great Expectations_.


	3. Part Of My Character

**A/N:** Since doesn't really want to do things my way, I'll just write this before writing the actual chapter so it would definitely upload. Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful reviews and feedback; they were a great inspiration for me to go on with the story. I'm really happy and kind of fangirly that you like what I got so far! Keep them coming : ))

Also, sorry if there are a couple of typing mistakes here and there, I couldn't spot them all…

**PS:** I'm on Grantaire's side in re Scooby Doo, I absolutely love it, I just thought it would be fun if my sweet little baby Enjolras criticized it.

When it was dark and it was night and all he could hear was his own breathing, Enjolras could feel his heart sink, and he was mortified. He knew what was coming; he had been trying his best to avoid sleeping in the last couple of days, he was so afraid of what he might see in his dreams – he wasn't afraid of Éponine, dreaming about her was a part of his life, a part of him, but what her being in his life meant, he didn't like very much. Actually, she wasn't really in his life, that is, since he only met her like 3 times – 3 awkward times in which he might have given the impression that she was a bother. _Maybe I'll never see her again_, he thought, and the idea made him happy and miserable at the same time.

Dreams are very strange. He could feel them creep up on him, quiet and still, sat behind in the dark, and stroked his hair. They wrapped themselves around his bones and wouldn't let go – and he couldn't let go of them. They were made of more now than just her; they became eerie visions of smoke, fire and blood filled with cries for help and release. At night Enjolras was a different person. He was imprisoned in the world of his dreams when asleep and he was haunted by the thought and sight of Éponine when he was quite awake. Since he couldn't possibly escape her, Enjolras decided to get rid of the other and just simply not sleep. He drank coffee all the time now, spending most of his free time in his apartment or at Café Musain, reading or learning. He really couldn't stand the term 'studying'; it just reminded him of the slavery that today's educational system was – and that fact he quickly added to his mental list of the thing he would like to change in the future.

It was a long list, he thought as he turned around to see the soldiers pointing guns at him. His face was covered in blood, but he had not a wound – it was the blood of his brothers and country that he was covered in. He had placed the billiard table between his assailants and himself; he had retreated into the corner of the room, and there, with haughty eye, and head borne high, with this stump of a weapon in his hand, he was still so alarming as to speedily create an empty space around him.

„He is the leader! Let us shoot him down on the spot." A cry arose. Enjolras gave them a soft, delirious smile – at long last, what he had always dreamed of now finally came. He would die happily and bravely. The captain is the last one to leave the ship. Just as it should be.

"Shoot me." He said, offering his chest to them willingly. He lifted his red flag up – his wings, Enjolras realized. They would help him fly, fly away. Just as the guns fired, he sensed somebody standing next to him, he even remembered smiling at him but before he could make out who it was, he finally flew out the window – his red wings helping him cross the air.

The door flew open. Enjolras suddenly awoke, sitting up in his bed. He saw Grantaire in the other side of his room with a frying pan in his hand, his hair messy and his legs didn't seem to function properly as he stumbled in the dark.

"Dude, you 'kay?" He asked Enjolras in a sleepy, unsteady voice.

"Yeah. Yes, I'm fine, Grantaire. Why do you have a frying pan with you?" Enjolras replied raising an eyebrow, sounding confused. Grantaire shrugged.

"You called out. I thought that you were being murdered or something."

"I did?" Asked Enjolras, suddenly feeling self-conscious and ashamed. He was no child, after all. "I was having a nightmare- but wait what? This is my apartment, why are you here in the first place?"

Grantaire frowned. He was afraid he would ask that question. "Um, I was having a long night and thought I might crash here a bit."

Grantaire closed his eyes, waiting for his friend to snap at him for sneaking in his apartment without him knowing. But Enjolras did no such thing – in fact, Grantaire acknowledged as he opened his eyes again, he was lying in his bed now, covering his face with his hands.

"That's it? You're not gonna yell at me for invading your privacy and stuff?" He asked Enjolras, looking surprised. He only shook his head slightly in response.

"Are you okay, man? I'm guessing you haven't gotten much sleeping in the past few days."

"I'm fine." Enjolras said huskily. "I've been busy."

"I'll say. But it's the middle of the night, how busy are you _right now_?"

"Well, I have been sleeping until you woke me up, moron." Enjolras replied, suddenly feeling fed up with Grantaire and his interrogating bullshit. He was so incredibly tired and confused – that dream he just had concerned him greatly – what were these dreams even about what the hell was wrong with his mind he was okay with the visions simply being fiction but now Éponine turned out to be very much real did this mean that the rest was true too what is he going to do for the love of God.

Enjolras took a deep breath. He was clearly freaking out and he soon decided that he did not like feeling this way. He was rather comfortable with the calm indifference he felt almost every day of his life when it came to trivial things other people cherished, but when it came to the thing that really mattered in the world, he liked to think that he was everything _but_ indifferent. However, a he could've used a little calm about now. Grantaire seemed to sense his internal struggle.

"Look, Enjolras, if something's bothering you, you know that you can always tell me…" He attempted to say this to give his friend comfort, but only managed to make Enjolras's frown deepen. He didn't really seem to hear Grantaire.

"Red wings." He whispered, looking up at Grantaire's face, searching for answers. "In the dream… I had wings."

"Well," Started Grantaire with a small, almost sad smile, "I don't see how that's any different from real life."

oOo

As Éponine flipped the pages of her weary book she could feel the sun breaking through the clouds and bathing her in its golden light. She didn't realize it was that late – or early, as it were, but she just didn't feel sleepy at all. Great Expectations was all that had been on her mind lately, consuming her with its perfection – that was the best thing about obsessions, really. They would burn greatly for a while and then fade away to make room for something else and then come back slowly, then all at once. Sweet rushes of love would come and overwhelm her. That's how she felt about this book. That's how she felt about everything, actually.

And now she was practically murdering her copy, searching for something feverishly; lingering on certain pages, caressing the writing, drinking in the words, and-

"Éponine?" Cosette asked yawning from the other side of their dorm room. Éponine flinched. She didn't mean to be loud. "What are you doing?"

"Do you know that part in Great Expectations where Pip tells Estella that he can do nothing but love her, even though he knows she is not all good and that this love is against reason and no good will ever come of it except for its simple beauty?" She asked Cosette suddenly, practically gabbling.

There was a pause. "Um… no."

"Well, that's the quote I'm looking for." Éponine sighed. Her eyes wore sore now, probably turned red from skipping sleep. Great. "But I can't find it anywhere."

"You do realize there's a thing called the Internet where you can search this stuff in nanoseconds and without violently waking up your best friend." Cosette answered, sitting up now, her hair messy from sleeping, dark circles under her eyes.

"But… I have the book in my hands – why would I want to go online, then I wouldn't be searching in the book itself?!" Éponine didn't really get Cosette's point. Her friends only sighed.

"God, what century are you from?" She asked, giggling. "Nevermind. I'm up now anyways."

"I'm sorry I woke you up, Cosette." Éponine said sounding and feeling really guilty.

"It's okay. Keep on reading, weirdo."

But Éponine didn't succeed in finding said quote. When she finally looked up from her book, she realized that it was even later than she thought and she would have to head to class soon. Éponine groaned loudly and unhappily – it's not that she didn't enjoy her studies; on the contrary, college was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her. In high school there were all kind of other disturbing subjects such as math or gym but here she could learn things that she was genuinely interested in. She was a double major; she took Literature and Philosophy and she loved every minute of it. Her classes were fascinating but she found that she had to study quite hard if she wanted to keep her full scholarship. She was lucky she even got accepted in the first place.

Throughout the day Éponine gave a lot of thought to her favorite book – her favorite lines, the characters that had a special place in her heart and the smartness of how Dickens captured them. She came to realize that she felt closer to this book than she did to most people – it gave her something powerful and important and it was given to her by someone whom she once looked up to. Her father. Her heartbeat quickened as she recalled her father's tall figure – she always found him so big, like a giant that could protect her from anything, - his dark eyes and small half-smile that would make her day. She was dying for his approval, his love – her dearest memories of him were still the gentle touches on the cheek, the smiles and the way he murmured 'That's my girl' to her when she made him proud. They were so close, so alike – at least that's what her mother had always said. Éponine and her daddy, they did everything together, hand in hand, them against the world. But his gather lost his job and got abusive. He grew impatient and moody, got into drinking. His imbalance showed on Éponine's neck, back and her arms – she was a picture that he was painting with little care; she was a child that needed to be taught. Her body was the map that showed the way she and her father grew apart. Éponine absent-mindedly brushed a finger over her shoulder – some of these marks she would bare until her very last day.

But after all that she's been through with her parents, Éponine still couldn't think of them with hatred in her heart. She loved them the way one loved something broken and helpless; it was a love that pained her very heart and she knew that it would consume her eventually. But it didn't matter, it never did. It was of no significance that her mother's hands would be shaking but still would stand silently as her father hit her and that she'd only cry out when it was her turn. It didn't matter that her father would come to her room the next and day and kiss her and whisper that he was so, so sorry. No, all that mattered at the end of the day was how her mother and she were baking together and chatting and laughing; that his father came to her room to be the first to greet her on her twelfth birthday and gave her this book – _Great Expectations_; a book that showed her just the kind of love that she knew, the kind she thought to be the only one to exist. A wretched, broken love that you feel no matter what; a love that breaks you and shatters you into million little pieces but it is a love that's a part of you and don't want to let go of.

_I love you so much my heart hurts._ This whisper came to her out of the blue as she was heading to her dorm room in the early afternoon. She froze and ceased walking, she was so shocked by hearing these words – words that Éponine never said to anyone but she was quite certain that it was her own voice she heard saying them.

When would I ever say that to anyone, she wondered – but dropped her books instantly, due to being blinded by a sharp image in her mind. An image of herself embracing someone – a man, she comprehended with shock. She was embracing him and whispering to him – _I love you, I love you so much my heart hurts. _And the man kissed her then, gently and caringly, like she had never been kissed before.

And the way you still haven't been, she reminded herself. He wasn't actually kissing you, what the actual fuck.

I'm seeing things.

The vision now made itself scarce and all Éponine could catch from it was that the man had an endearing, calming scent. She was brought back to reality by a voice very familiar.

"Are you all right?" Enjolras asked her, sounding concerned as he squatted beside her to collect her dropped books from the ground. Éponine looked at him in awe, eyes wide open. Musichetta was right after all; he really was the most beautiful man on Earth. His shiny blonde hair and blue eyes made him look like an angel and - Éponine quickly sniffed in the air - his scent was somehow familiar.

"Enjolras." She whispered and shuddered as she said so; his name from her lips sounded so intimate it even made him look up to meet her gaze.

"Hi," He answered. He gave her a soft smile. "Is something the matter? Are you unwell?"

"No. No, I'm okay, I was just thinking." Éponine replied still in a whisper, feeling embarrassed by staring at him.

"So you just dropped you stuff and sat on the ground?" Enjolras asked her, not quite believing her explanation. Éponine herself realized that it did sound stupid, but it was no matter now. She simply shrugged.

"I was really deep in a thought." She said without blinking. Enjolras looked at her, swallowing hard. He was pretty sure he was blushing again, and thought that this needed to stop; but certainly not by snapping at her again, he was quite rude to her the other day and felt guilty about it afterward – maybe he could apologize and have a fresh start. They could be friends – what the hell. Enjolras was rather taken aback by such a thought. When did he ever want to friends with people? He didn't even like people.

He frowned as he thought all that through and caught Éponine looking at her, biting her lip, presumably deep in concentration.

"Do you remember that part in Great Expectations where Pip declares his love for Estella? Where he grounds this description in images of nature and of the landscape that surrounds him, ho Estella is found in the very particles around him?" She suddenly asked, sounding genuinely curious. Enjolras stared. He did not expect such a question, but, ironically enough, he knew the answer. He was very fond of _Great Expectations_.

"You are part of my existence, part of myself. You have been in every line I have ever read, since I first came here, the rough common boy whose poor heart you wounded even then. You have been in every prospect I have ever seen since – on the river, on the sails of the ships, on the marshes, in the clouds, in the light, in the darkness, in the wind, in the woods, in the sea, in the streets. You have been the embodiment of every graceful fancy that my mind has ever become acquainted with. The stones of which the strongest London buildings are made, are not more real, or more impossible to displace with your hands, than your presence and influence have been to me, there and everywhere, and will be. Estella, to the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil. But, in this separation I associate you only with the good, and I will faithfully hold you to that always, for you must have done me far more good than harm, let me feel now what sharp distress I may. O God bless you, God forgive you!" Enjolras recited Pip's words in a calm and quiet voice, his eyes fixated on the ground – God forbid that he should look at her. He was unaware of knowing the words by heart and was surprised of how easily the words came from him, how natural it was to quote them. He felt embarrassed all of a sudden and chuckled. "Yeah, I think it rings a bell."

Éponine had never been this impressed in her short life. It was rather mesmerizing seeing and hearing Enjolras quote the exact words of Dickens, the words that led the way to her heart, mind and soul. He was the only person that could quote her very favorite author of her acquaintance, and that made Éponine think – if he was able to understand Dickens so well, he just might come to understand her. And Éponine needed, ached to be understood by someone, way more than she would care to admit.

They only became aware that they were still sitting on the dusty ground when it started raining. Éponine sighed. Enjolras stood up, offering her a hand – and she gladly took it.

"Where are you headed?" He asked now, sounding very formal, making it clear that their little moment was gone.

"To the Café, I guess." Éponine shrugged.

"Okay," Enjolras nodded, "I'll give you a ride."

"Oh." Éponine's eyes widened, surprised by the gesture. Nobody ever offered her to give her a ride – Cosette's father did not count. But wouldn't it be very awkward? Besides, she liked walking in the rain. "That's alright, I'll just walk."

"It's pouring." Enjolras stated in a confused voice. Éponine smiled.

"I know. I like the rain very much; it always brings me in the mood. I might even burst out in a sad song." She teased, and then frowned immediately. She usually teased her friends only and Enjolras far from that. She should just stop right there.

"As appealing as that sounds," Enjolras said in a sarcastic tone, "I have to make something clear: it wasn't a question."

Éponine couldn't hide her surprise – so he _was_ a teasing kinda person. "Alright then. But why are you here? I thought sophomores didn't have classes on Fridays?"

"We don't." He assured her. "I just came around to check something briefly in the library… "He now looked at his phone and grimaced. "… 4 hours ago. I guess I just got stuck there."

Éponine chuckled. Now _that_ she could understand. "Yes, you were always…" She stopped midsentence, looking away from him in horror. What did she just say? Enjolras seemed to find her fragment strange, because he looked at her eagerly. "I mean… it does sound like something that you would do."

Enjolras frowned a little but nodded, and Éponine looked away, desperately hoping to avoid any eye contact with him on their short car ride.

_You were always…_

What? What was she even trying to say? She didn't even know him at all!


	4. Sunshine And Happy Thoughts

There was no use pretending. Cosette really had to go to the bathroom.

It felt as though she hadn't had to pee like this since birth and it was probably due to the fact that she had several bottles of Diet Coke that morning. Her mind was fuzzy with all the thoughts trying to catch one another – thoughts of the significant number of papers that she should've been working on, thoughts on Marius and his freckles and the feeling she got whenever he smiled at her. But most importantly, even though she was in fact a privileged 18-year-old white girl in love, her mind was fixated on the wrongs of her world.

Cosette was never one to judge – she was aware that she had it better than most people but she also thought that everyone should be left alone with their problems. It was so easy and needed sometimes to feel miserable – after all what sort of healthy person would want to be happy all the time?

She always found that one could only find balance if one dealt with both the good and the bad around one. Cosette wasn't a very complicated girl; she never felt the need to be. Éponine was the deep and sophisticated one, the girl with the shiny, brown hair and a smile with something underneath it and Cosette was right there beside her with her blonde hair and simple wants.

She only ever wanted to be pretty and happy, to love and feel loved – she thought this would be enough. But now that she had it all – the boyfriend, the perfect friends and the bright future, she realized that she craved for more and this realization came to her as a shock. She now examined the working of the human heart with wonder – alas, nothing was ever enough.

Cosette felt the pressure of her new life; not feeling good enough, pretty enough, bright enough for Marius, not being a good enough friend for Éponine, not being able to call her Dad every time something hurt her. It was sometimes hard to breathe. _How strange_, Cosette mused.

She knew that whenever she walked into a room, she was more or less liked by the people in there. When she wanted a nice dress or a better grade she never had to work hard to get it and it was all okay, it was natural. She had never really thought about the easiness and lightness of her world until recently; the past few months of her life Cosette became disturbingly self-conscious and aware of her own person and she did not like it. Maybe she was a terrible person, she comprehended. Should she hate herself now? Was that the normal thing to do?

Such thoughts consumed her most of the time. That was the main reason why she thought of the bad things more often.

She noticed Éponine seeming a bit off for the last few weeks and felt guilty for not approaching her earlier to confront her about her behavior. She was just having so much fun with Marius – Cosette still blushed a bit thinking about the gentle touches and kisses they shared earlier – that she became a bit oblivious to the rest of the world. But now, she would make it up to Éponine and she would be an awesome friend.

Did she determine to do that so she herself would feel better?

Maybe a bit and doing selfish deeds like that was wrong but it just might help Éponine and if something, then _this _wasn't selfish.

And finally, _finally_ she could use that damn toilet, seriously, that lady sure took her time.

As Cosette made her way to her dorm room she heard suspicious noises from inside and when she opened the door she found her best friend, Éponine jumping on the bed while the song _Mirrors_ by Justin Timberlake was playing in the background. Cosette frowned. What an unusual image!

"Oooh-oh, hi there, Cosette! Care to join me, friend?" Éponine shouted cheerfully.

"You okay there, 'Ponine?" Cosette shouted back, sounding a bit concerned.

"Sure! I just love this song so much it kills me!" Éponine was now screaming from the top of her lungs and started laughing hysterically. Cosette's eyes widened and she quickly closed the door and turned down the music.

"Sweetheart, are you on something?" Cosette asked her friend as she tried to make her stop jumping around. Real life Éponine would've just rolled her eyes in annoyance but this tuned up version of her started giggling like a 12-year-old Catholic schoolgirl.

"Nope, just rainbows and sunshine and happy thoughts!"

"So basically Red Bull." Cosette drew the conclusion in a resigned tone. Éponine glanced at her looking guilty.

"Yeah."

"'Ponine, what's my number one rule?" She asked Éponine in a motherly, warning kind of way. Éponine grimaced and threw her arms to the air helplessly.

"Um… don't drink Red Bull?" She blurted out at last, like it was a question.

"DON'T DRINK RED BULL." Cosette cut her off, now raising her voice. She shook head disapprovingly. "It does things to you, it's worse than any kind of alcohol, really. How many did you have?"

"Uh," Éponine started, narrowing her eyes, concentrating. "Like 3 or 4 cans?"

Cosette let out a defeated sigh. Éponine on Red Bull was worse than any monster out there.

"Is something wrong, 'Ponine?"

"Naah. Of course not, it's great. Why wouldn't it be? It's like, calm." Éponine uttered, gesturing violently with her hands. Cosette stared at her – Éponine's eyes suddenly flickered as if she were in pain. "It's just – I had enough of this shit, you know? I was doing fine with my pathetic life and my books and my shattered wants and then this happens and – and now I don't know what is sure, okay? I see something and it might not actually be there. Cosette, how do I – how do I know for sure? Tell me, please, because I see things and they are not there. I knew what his favorite color was, how did I know that? I think I might be going crazy. Like actually, certifiably nuts."

Cosette watched Éponine silently as she poured her heart out in a rambling and not quite understandable way, but when her friend was done she closed the gap between them and hugged her friend. She wanted to understand her _so much,_ she thought as Éponine held onto her like an anchor, the last hope of remaining on the surface.

"Éponine." Cosette called her name in a low voice. They weren't hugging anymore but sitting on the edge of Cosette's bed. Cosette searched for her friend's eyes but Éponine looked in the other direction. "Éponine, tell me."

Silence.

"Éponine, please. Don't you think that I didn't notice something's up – you're scaring me a little." Still no reply. Cosette let out a frustrated sigh. "What is the matter, 'Ponine?"

"Nothing." She finally answered huskily. "It's all okay."

"Yeah, and you drank 34 oz. of energy drink – which is basically like drugs for you - because it's all okay, huh?" Éponine merely shrugged. "Come on, how stupid do you think I am? Ooh, don't answer that!"

Éponine now looked at Cosette; she seemed genuinely concerned about her and that made Éponine twitch with guilt. She didn't want others to worry about her; she didn't want to be anything to anybody, really. That's why she had all those energy drinks, to finally let go of everything and everyone. She couldn't help but think about The Car Ride That Caused Her A Mental Breakdown. It was only an hour ago but Éponine still felt like she was there.

_Éponine stared down on the vehicle that Enjolras claimed to be his. She was stunned._

"_That's your car? REALLY?" She asked Enjolras forgetting the fact that she supposed to feel awkward around him. He just looked at blankly and nodded. "Life is just so unfair."_

"_Don't tell me." Came Enjolras' reply. As Éponine opened the car door – carefully so she wouldn't wreck his car – she stumbled upon several books in the passenger seat. She picked them up and sat with the books on her lap._

"_Oh, sorry, I forgot those." Enjolras said, reaching for the books but Éponine wouldn't give them to him. She obviously had to read the titles first. She frowned. "The Complete Works Of Maximilien Robespierre? Why would you read that?"_

"_Naturally because I am interested in his ideas about the republic. Robespierre is considered to be one of the finest thinkers of the __Enlightenment." Enjolras replied, sounding rather pedant. Éponine snorted._

_"You're shitting me." _

_Enjolras looked at her in surprise. "I can assure you that I am not shitting you, Éponine."_

_"But," protested Éponine, feeling breathless all of a sudden, most certainly not because of the way Enjolras said her name. "Robespierre was practically a mass murderer. He created a terror after the French Revolution and basically executed everyone who did not share his believes."_

_Enjolras stared._

_"I mean," she continued blushing, feeling self-conscious. "His ideas about the republic and equality were fine, but what matters are not your words but how you handle things once you're in charge. Robespierre went mad with power. This book, "she said, now motioning to Enjolras's book, "is full of big fat lies. Those people needed more than just nicely put speeches and empty promises. Words are not everything."_

_Enjolras was motionless. He gazed at Éponine so intensely she immediately turned red. She did not mean to insult anyone, that's just what she thought on the matter. Enjolras finally moved – and with that he frightened Éponine greatly – for he threw The Complete Works Of Maximilien Robespierre to the back seat. Éponine glared at him._

_"What just happened?"_

_"I'm taking the damn thing back to the library." Enjolras answered with a shrug, matter-of-factly. _

_"Are you sure?" Éponine asked with a frown. _

_"I've never been more convinced in my life." Enjolras said with a half-smile on his face. "Anyway, don't tell this to Les Amis but I only borrowed this book because Condorcet was already taken out."_

_Éponine's eyes widened. She quickly pulled out her freshly borrowed copy of Sketch for a Historical Picture of the Progress of the Human Mind from her bag and stared at it._

_Enjolras' gasped. "You were the one who borrowed it before me? You're the enthusiastic brunette?"_

_"The WHAT?" Éponine asked, confused. _

_"No, listen, that's how the librarian lady described you when I asked who it was that borrowed a Condorcet book so I could hunt them down and make their lives misery." Enjolras explained but flinched when he realized how that might sound._

_"Oh." That was all Éponine could say. Enjolras seemed to misinterpret the lack of reaction._

_"That was badly put, I'm not a serial killer, I swear." Enjolras added quickly, chuckling and running his hand through his hair. Éponine gave him a mix of a snort and a laughter. _

_"Yeah, it was me. But only because Robespierre was already taken out." She deadpanned and then glanced at Enjolras. They looked at each other for a second or so before they both burst out laughing. Éponine gazed at Enjolras and the smile he had on his face charmed her. Enjolras didn't give the impression that he laughed or smiled a lot, and now that Éponine could make him she felt somewhat special. But seeing his very real, a little bit goofy smile started something in Éponine and for a brief moment she wasn't in the car with him, but she was embracing, kissing him. Him, Enjolras, for he was the person that she had seen earlier in her vision. __I love you much my heart hurts__, she said to him and he smiled and brought her in for a kiss._

_Her smile faded into a frown and she now didn't know what to do. She couldn't look at Enjolras or the road or the book that she was still holding in her hand. _

_There was an awkward silence between them now; neither Éponine nor Enjolras knew what was next. Enjolras secretly glanced at Éponine who was knocking a rhythm on her book. Éponine glanced at Enjolras who looked away a moment earlier and licked his lip. _

_Something should be done to break this silence._

_"So," She said way too cheerfully, still feeling dizzy and overwhelmed by the image of the two of them. "you do realize that this is by far the fanciest car I've ever sat in."_

_Enjolras glanced at her, not quite understanding her comment. "This car isn't fancy. It's a really nice and practical vehicle I use for transport."_

"_Dude, it's a red Mini Cooper. Let's face it: it's one of the most expensive cars in the world and now I'm sitting in it."_

"_Is that a disturbing thought?" He asked her, bringing his eyebrows together. "Look, it was a gift and I don't really think a lot about cars, it's just something I drive and not something I want to show off with. And it's red because red is my favorite color."_

_Éponine rolled her eyes. "I know."_

"_You do?" Asked Enjolras, sounding shocked. Éponine realized that she hadn't actually known that and glared at Enjolras. What the hell, change the subject._

"_So why were you going to read Condorcet anyway? Or Robespierre, for that matter?" Éponine hoped she sounded casual. _

"_Well, I'm rather interested in the thinkers of the Enlightenment. They had it all figured out, you know? Liberté, égalité, fraternité; they aspired to build a new world based on these three words. The simplicity and the undeniable nobleness of their principles somehow draw me in and make me realize that the world we live in today is far from perfect. I wish to change that somehow in the future; that is why I'm reading their thoughts. I want to learn from them." Enjolras said, his voice calm and determined, full of confidence and reason. _

_Éponine admired such knowledge and security in a person, especially in his person, but she couldn't help having doubts._

"_And you think that today's world can be changed for the better by these words and their meanings?"_

"_Yes, I do." He said immediately._

"_Why?" Éponine really wanted to know._

"_Because I _believe." _Enjolras told her, sounding as though that one word meant everything. Éponine realized that he might have got that right but still –_ _not everything was as simple._

"_You are an idealist." She stated with a smile and then gasped. She was blind again, blind to this world but she could see so, so clearly – Enjolras and she were in a room full of books; he was sitting at his desk with a piece of paper in his hand, violently gesturing with it, speaking of a France, of equal people, of a life about to start. He was really passionate about one thing and one thing only; his Patria. When he spoke of such delight filled his features she was left in awe – what an unusual but beautiful, beautiful man. When he was finished he looked at her for reassurance, waiting for her to nod enthusiastically and to cherish the cause he lived for._

_She gave him a sad smile. "You, monsieur, are an idealist. An angel sent to Earth to lead the people, but can you see the fault in it? How are you to lead them when you are not of them and therefore cannot ever understand them?"_

_And with that it was over. She was back again in the car with Enjolras and was not there at the same time; it felt as though these visions chewed on her soul and spat her out violently, a significant half of her was still trapped in the dreams. The car was spinning around her and Éponine desperately needed to breathe and to feel the naked sky around her._

"_Stop the car." She commanded. Enjolras stared at her but pulled over all the same. _

"_Are you alright, Éponine?" He demanded, sounding really worried. He looked at her with those beautiful blue eyes and Éponine almost started to cry. How was it that you can feel so awkward and comfortable with somebody at the same time? His glorious eyes and lips and every feature of his face pained her; a face that she knew so well was now only fingertips away – she could lean in and kiss those lips and twist her fingers in his hair and lose herself in the process but why would she ever want to do that? She did not know this man, even if she felt so close to him, even if her head was filled with all these images of the two of them together. How, how, how?_

_She was definitely going crazy. "I'm fine. I just need to get out of this car, I – I forgot something. I'm sorry."_

_And with that she opened the door and rushed out, leaving a confused Enjolras behind. He tried to go after her but she was already hidden by the houses of the street._

_Éponine felt nauseous, her whole body ached. She needed to get drunk, like now._

"You're not gonna tell me anything, will you?" Cosette asked at last in a defeated tone. Éponine merely shook her head. She couldn't bear talking about this right now. Cosette sighed. "Okay, then, what should we do?"

"Don't you have plans with Marius?" Éponine asked in a mocking way, although Cosette was oblivious to that.

"Screw Marius!" She screamed with enthusiasm and Éponine raised an eyebrow. She still looked a bit drunken and flinched at her sharp and loud tone. "I mean, you know, don't screw him, but. But I canceled my plans with him."

"Why?" Éponine sounded puzzled; Cosette had never said no to see Marius before.

"So we can have some girl time, silly!" Cosette looked at her and Éponine returned her gaze; her friend was sitting there, close to Éponine, ready to catch her as always. She looked hopeful and scared and worried for her friend – and oddly enough somewhat exhausted. That was the strangest thing as Cosette was never exhausted, she was always a fresh mix of fairy dust and unicorns. But now she was, and as she looked at Éponine she could read the thoughts out of her eyes – I'm sorry, Éponine. I know something's wrong and I am so sorry that you feel that you can't share it with me or with anyone; I'm sorry you shut everybody out but I don't care. I'm your friend and I want to be there for you. I just _want to be_ your friend.

Éponine let out a shaky sigh. Maybe she was the problem and she just couldn't handle being somebody's friend, somebody's… whatever. She was a shitty person and not the kind that could easily belong – and at the same time she desperately yearned for the acceptance of others, friends who understood her and cared for her. How ridiculous was life?

"Define girl time." She finally said. Cosette clapped her hands.

"We're gonna go shopping, sweet cheeks!" She replied as though shopping was the only good thing in the world.

Éponine groaned unhappily. "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing."

Éponine didn't take her girly time with Cosette very well. They went to the mall and visited every single shop filled with shoes and clothes and of course there was no possible way to sit in these things, even though Éponine got tired after about 10 minutes of shopping. Cosette on the other hand was clearly having the time of her life, giggling and chatting with the shop assistants. And all Éponine did was groan every once in a while to express her disapproval.

But it turned out to be actually helpful; Éponine almost forgot her worries and doubts in regard of her sanity and Enjolras and focused on how much she despised shopping – Cosette seemed to know what was best for her after all and Éponine wasn't even surprised about that.

As she and Cosette left another shop and walked down the streets they ran into someone unexpected: Grantaire. The man was walking around town with his phone in his hand, texting so fast it Éponine was rather impressed.

"Hello there, my suns and stars." He greeted them with a sly smile when looking up from his iPhone. Éponine returned his smile, she really liked Grantaire.

"Hi, Grantaire how's life?" Cosette said.

"Swell." Was his answer. "I'm right now observing a hilarious text fight between Enjolras and Marius; your sweet boyfriend accidently told Enjolras that he's got a cat named Napoleon. Imagine the horror!"

Cosette laughed. "Napoleon is so adorable!"

"Not to our little revolutionary here; he's giving Marius his angelic murderer death stare – and all that virtually!" Grantaire replied chuckling and showing his phone around.

"But how can you be observing the text fight if they are not texting you?" Éponine asked, frowning. Grantaire waved.

"I may or may not have changed the text settings to constant group texts. I know a guy." Grantaire smirked, looking at the two girls proudly, and then made a face when seeing Éponine's pale face. "You okay, 'Ponine?"

"She's not." Answered him Cosette. "She overdosed with energy drinks, now she's kind of between the drunk and the hangover phase."

Grantaire gave Éponine an odd look. "You got drunk on energy drinks?"

"BECAUSE NOBODY WOULD SELL ME ALCOHOL GRANTAIRE." Said Éponine, sounding upset, grabbing Grantaire by his collar. He smiled.

"It's because of your baby face, honey. Follow me, I can get you so drunk with real booze you won't even remember your own name."

"I don't think that's a good idea, Grantaire." Said Cosette quickly in a rather alarmed voice. "Anyway, how come they sell you drinks? You're not 21 yet."

"Oh, girls." He sighed. "I'm an attractive 20-year-old wealthy male living in a patriarchal society. How do you think?"

"That's just pure sexism." Éponine gritted her teeth. Grantaire shrugged.

"That's just how things are."


	5. Ever Heard Such A Beautiful Poem

**A/N: Thanks again, everyone for the lovely reviews : ))**

**Oh yeah, I don't own Les Misérables, but that would be awesome.**

* * *

"And then he doesn't say that when he thinks about his loved one everything is happy and cupcakes but that the very thought of them brings delight to his heart." With that thought the guy smiled and let out a long, dreamy sigh. "Have you ever heard such a beautiful poem?"

He looked around to catch the group's reaction but only met confused looks and awkward silence. Grantaire was the one to finally break it.

"Who _is_ this guy?" He asked, waving with his hand. Éponine cracked up, covering her mouth with her hands and laughing silently, her shoulders shuddering. The others seemed to be wondering about the same thing as they all looked at the weird guy who just analyzed Shakespeare's 47th sonnet. He blushed and rubbed his face, looking at Joly.

"Oh, right," Joly said, looking up, "everybody, this is Jean Prouvaire, also known as Jehan. Jehan, these are Les Amis: Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Grantaire, Enjolras, Éponine and Marius."

"I'm _last_?" Marius asked at the same time as Éponine comprehended:

"I'm part of your fancy group?" She asked in awe. Grantaire smiled at her.

"Of course you are, 'Ponine." He reassured her and then hit Marius not-so-gently on the back. "And you, my friend, wouldn't be last if you didn't spend so much with Cosette."

"Or your cat." Courfeyrac added in an amused voice. "What was it, Napoleon?"

Marius groaned and looked rather unhappy. He glanced at Enjolras. "It's France Itself now."

"What was that?" Éponine asked, raising one eyebrow. Marius rolled his eyes.

"I had to change his name to France Itself because this guy" he now pointed at Enjolras, "freaked the fuck out and threatened me to rip out the last page of every book I read if I don't yield and accept the fact that 'France don't need no Napoleon to be great, France is great because France itself is great.'"

Éponine closed her eyes, tired of this shit. "_Enjolras_." She groaned and to that he finally looked up from his book. "Really, Enjolras. France Itself? That was the best name you could think of?"

"What's wrong with that?" He answered, his cheeks flustered. Combeferre took notice of that and was puzzled – Enjolras, blushing? What the hell.

"Couldn't you just go with some pretentious Montesquieu or Liberty or…" She stopped here, like she had a so much better idea, "or_ Patria."_

Les Amis gasped and turned their face from Éponine to glance at Enjolras. He himself was looking at Éponine as though he had a lot to say and nothing to say at the same time.

"That is a _so much_ better idea!" He admitted at last in a whisper. Combeferre just sat there, stunned while the rest of Les Amis started laughing.

"I can't believe I have a cat named Patria now." Marius stared, looking defeated.

"I can't believe you have a cat in the first place." Courfeyrac yelled, mockingly.

"I can't believe Enjolras admitted that his idea was bad for Éponine." Combeferre whispered, but he was heard only by Enjolras, whose head now jerked up and stared at his friend.

"A cat named Patria." Acknowledged it Grantaire, smirking. "Where have you been all his life?"

Éponine turned red and just shrugged awkwardly. "I don't know."

* * *

_God_, she was killing him. Where has she been all his life; that is one great question, Grantaire. Enjolras couldn't help looking at her; this infuriating female with a face that he had once thought had belonged to him but now they were worlds apart. He shook his head slightly; he wasn't supposed to get distracted from his daily routine. He tried to ignore the rush of adrenaline he felt every time he laid eyes on her or heard her voice and went back to writing his notes.

He was going to give a speech about the poor education students get these days on campus two weeks from now and he needed to concentrate on that, rather than women. Or more like one particular woman – the one that not only knew a lot about the Enlightenment she also told him that she did not agree with Robespierre's ways. Enjolras sometimes still replayed the whole scene in his head; how reasonable her words were and how she blushed when she had to tell him what she thought. Éponine clearly wasn't used to speaking in front of others like that, unlike him. But she had some valid points and Enjolras was interested in what she might think about his speech.

He was doing it again; thinking about Éponine. He had to stop, he decided; the rest of Les Amis were having a conversation on God knows what, not paying attention to him at all – with the exception of Combeferre, who was eyeing Enjolras, frowning.

"What is it?" Enjolras asked him, sounding grumpy and bored, as usual. Combeferre smiled.

"Nothing. Just wanted you to know that I joined the Facebook event you invited me to. You know, the speech thingy and all." His friend replied, looking at Enjolras carefully, seeking his reaction but all Enjolras did was turn a page in his notebook.

"I was sort of expecting a clap or something." Admitted Combeferre.

"What exactly do you expect me to say, Combeferre, praise you for clicking a button?" Enjolras asked, raising his eyebrows. "Of course you joined the event; that was the right thing to do since you support our cause."

"Uh-huh," Combeferre said with a smile. "So you only have a soft spot for Éponine then."

Enjolras froze but managed to sound indifferent. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Well, of course you don't. You're clueless."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's okay if you like Éponine." Combeferre stated with a knowing smirk. Enjolras turned as red as the breaking of dawn.

"I don't like Éponine." He finally said, pushing each word.

"Oh well, get in line." Enjolras heard a voice murmur behind him; he turned around to find Éponine herself, giving the two men an odd look. Enjolras felt shame and guilt run through him, but Éponine gave them a smile – a _fake _smile, Enjolras realized. "I'm headed to the counter, you guys want something?"

"No, thank you." Combeferre and Enjolras murmured, not looking her in the eye. She sighed and walked away. His friend looked at Enjolras, biting on his lower lip.

"Ooh, you think you hurt her feelings?" Combeferre asked him with a grimace.

"Shut up, Combeferre." Enjolras commanded with a groan. He looked around. "Where did Marius go?"

"Oh, he just texted me; he's getting Cosette flowers. Isn't that _romantic_?" Combeferre said with irony. Enjolras's face went dark.

"It would be even more romantic if he was here and did what I asked him to for once." He said with an eye-roll. "Tell that little dipshit that those flowers better be red or he shouldn't bother coming back here."

"Should I tell him to get you some too?" Combeferre asked, laughing. Enjolras didn't even acknowledge him. He went back to working on his speech – and it went terribly. He completely lacked ideas and had no idea how to make people see the wrongs of the world. Maybe it's because I don't know what I'm trying to say, he thought. Éponine overhearing him saying that he didn't like her, his speech being a mess – this wasn't his day. I bet she could help – nope, don't open that door.

He was so focused on not thinking about Éponine and cursing his work Enjolras didn't even hear a chair being pulled next to him. When he looked up, startled, he found Jehan staring at him, eating a green apple. Enjolras gave him a look. Jehan held up a finger, telling him to wait till he swallowed his apple.

"Hi." Jean Prouvaire said with a goofy smile. Enjolras brought his eyebrows together and nodded in response. "So, it is such honor to finally meet you. You're the talk of the town, you see. I heard you speak about women's equality the other week, it was highly inspiring."

Enjolras now looked up from his writing, looking interested in this odd fellow. "Oh. Why, thank you."

"It's nothing," Jehan said still smiling, and offered his hand. Enjolras shook it. "I'm Jean Prouvaire – or Jehan."

"Enjolras."

"Oh, I know." Jehan said, nodding and then tilted his head. "Wait; is that your first or last name?"

Enjolras sighed – this is exactly why he didn't like meeting new people. "It's my last name, also the name that I prefer to be called by."

"Right, but what is your first name?" Jehan was pushing it.

Enjolras gave him a look that made Jehan back off. "Is that a touchy subject? I'm sorry."

"It's okay." Enjolras sighed. Jehan didn't know what to say now, so he just changed the subject to something casual – at least that's what he thought.

"Isn't Paris wonderful in the fall?" He said, looking out the window with a dreamy look. Enjolras followed his gaze; the Parisian view was rather cruel that day – it was raining heavily and the sun was nowhere to be found. Such weather was the reason to why people were grumpy and sad and complained about how much they hated this climate. _This guy is something else_, Enjolras realized and turned back to Jehan with a genuine smile on his face.

"Paris is wonderful all the time." He said. "Say, Jehan, how would you like to join me and my friends…?"

* * *

Éponine was practically fuming when she walked up to the counter. She wasn't sure why she was angry – because Enjolras said that he didn't like her - how imbecile was she? - or because Combeferre thought that he did. She sat on one of the bar chairs and looked warily at Musichetta.

"Can I get a coffee, please?"

"Sure," nodded Musichetta, "but only because I'm not allowed to refuse to serve customers."

Éponine now looked confused. "What?"

Musichetta leaned closer to Éponine with a devious smirk on her face. "You stole my statue, love!"

Éponine covered her face with her hands. "What in God's name are you talking about, 'Chetta?"

"_Enjolras!_" Musichetta hissed violently and motioned at the man still sitting at Les Amis' table, talking to Jehan. "I called dibs and that didn't stop you! There's a naughty girl underneath all that innocence, isn't that right, 'Ponine?"

Éponine couldn't believe her ears – she felt like she was on some weird soap opera or some reality show.

"I'm sorry I didn't realize this was _America's Next Top Model_." She said wearily but Musichetta didn't quite catch the sarcasm.

"I have to admit I'm a little bit disappointed, girl." Musichetta said, shrugging. "I mean, no hard feelings or anything, it's just that I thought you would tell me that you were tapping that! How did you even do it – that god hasn't looked at a girl since I can remember and then you appear and sweep him off his feet! Oh, my God, teach me how to live!"

"STOP." Éponine blurted out, red as a beetroot. This was such a surreal conversation she couldn't quite handle it.

"There is – there is nothing going on between me and Enjolras." Éponine stated in embarrassment. Musichetta's hand's stopped in the air and stared at Éponine in disbelief for a minute or two.

"For real?" She finally asked. Éponine nodded aggressively.

"Yes, of course. Why would you even think that?"

Musichetta gave her a look.

"You mean apart from all the blushing and staring at each other?" She asked Éponine skeptically. "You're seriously not getting any action?"

"And all I wanted was some coffee I can have silently and in peace." Éponine murmured to herself in defeat. "No, 'Chetta, I'm not 'having any action'. Enjolras doesn't even like me, he said so himself."

Éponine regretted saying that the instance the words left her mouth – he doesn't like me? That made her sound like a pathetic high schooler whose crush won't take notice of. Jesus Christ.

"It's called sexual frustration." Musichetta replied immediately. That was it for Éponine; her face was about to turn into flames – this was way too much for her innocent soul to bear.

"Can you not?" She whimpered but Musichetta only smirked in response. Éponine groaned unhappily and murmured a thank you to Musichetta when she served her coffee. Was the tension she sensed between Enjolras and herself that obvious to everyone, she wondered. She knew that Cosette was aware of her struggles and insecurities when it came to Enjolras but she wouldn't pass it on, Éponine was sure of that. Cosette was too good of a friend.

She knew things and Éponine could trust her with them – and vice versa. Cosette was now home sick, she wasn't feeling very well in the morning; she actually woke Éponine up when she was in the bathroom, vomiting. When she came out, wearing a terry bathrobe, her hair in a messy bun on the top of her head and on her face an expression that could kill Éponine knew she was ill. She tucked her in bed and made her some tea before leaving to class. When she asked Cosette if she needed anything from the drugstore she merely shook her head.

Éponine almost forgot about Musichetta's cheeky comments when Grantaire showed up and sat down next to her. He winked at Éponine and said something to Musichetta and she answered something that Éponine didn't even hear but she managed to catch Grantaire's reaction.

"Uh," he said, nodding. "Is it because she and Enjolras are doing it?"

Éponine spat out the mouthful of drink he was about to swallow. She turned to Grantaire.

"Why does everybody think that's a thing? Because it's not." She protested. Grantaire and Musichetta burst out laughing.

"Of course not." Grantaire said, rolling his eyes. Éponine sighed. This was never going to stop.

"Um, Éponine." She heard a voice call out for her – and guess what, it was Enjolras. He was standing a couple of feet from them, holding pieces of paper in his hand. He had a very uncertain expression on his face; he almost looked nervous, Éponine realized. "Can I see you for a minute?"

"Ooh, he wants to 'see you for a minute.' Grantaire teased, laughing. Éponine rolled her eyes and got up.

"Please try not to make this into something sexual." A gentleman said in a suit sitting right next to them, reading his paper. Grantaire made a face when he realized he was talking to him.

"Excuse me, sir, but a, eavesdropping is a really indecent thing to do and b, this was sexual way before I got here." He snapped at the stranger, who barely shrugged.

As Éponine walked up to Enjolras she felt a strange sensation in her stomach – butterflies, she comprehended and flinched. What the hell, she thought the shit with butterflies was made up but apparently it was real. She stopped within a good distance between the two of them and looked up to him – he was really tall.

"What?"

Enjolras was definitely nervous now, embarrassed, even. He seemed rather fascinated in the sight of his shoes and licked his lips before he started talking.

"I'm writing a speech for the next campus meeting and – I need your help." He said, looking surprised at his own words. Éponine was stunned herself.

"My – my help? But I don't know the first thing about stuff like that." Éponine stated, not quite believing what he just told her. "Aren't your friends more familiar with the subject? Why ask me and not them?"

Enjolras bit on his lower lip, thinking. "I don't know, actually. I just had this feeling that you could help me."

They stared at each other for a second with a question in both of their eyes and Enjolras felt a punch in his stomach and he bent in his pain – and when he looked up, the café vanished and a candle-lit room was there instead. Éponine was still there in front of him, but she was utterly different; her face dirty, her hair messy and she was wearing a weary and torn gown. She was eyeing him with a puzzled look.

"No," she began, her voice uncertain, "no, I do not believe that you approaching this matter the right way, monsieur."

Enjolras gaped at her. "Pray, mademoiselle, why on Earth is that?"

She looked around helplessly, biting her lip, searching for words.

"Well – please forgive what I say, monsieur, - you are made of fine words, but is that all there is? You certainly are a brave and well-educated, charismatic young man, surely you have never had problems convincing people to see the world the way you do. You have a sparkling light inside of you that everybody is drawn to but I fear this light shows them the wrong way." Éponine said and blushed when she saw Enjolras's keen gaze. She swallowed hard and continued. "Your speeches are fine and captivating but they lack the knowledge of the streets. The people do not understand them, they will not rise -"

"But they have to -" Enjolras interrupted her in a rough voice. Éponine held a hand up, stopping him.

"May I finish please? Thank you." She licked her lips excitedly. "As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, monsieur, the people will not rise if you speak to them as if you were above them and bring up examples they know nothing about – isn't history most instructive? All these riots and revolutions you read about when people strove toward a larger goal, their hearts beating as one. But they are not one, they are individuals. You think of us as a crowd to speak in front of, a group of people with only one thought on their mind: freedom! But, monsieur," Éponine sighed with a sad smile, "we do not think of only one thing; and that is the most amazing thing about being human; we carry not only the want of being free but our love, our lust, our children and our beatings and they are scars on our bodies, maps to our hearts. We are capable of _so much more._"

Éponine finished; she opened her eyes, her cheeks flustered, and her throat dry from all the speaking. Enjolras was staring at her every so intensely, his eyes burning and boring into hers. He had never thought much of Éponine; she was but Marius' shadow, a silent observer of their meetings – a street urchin, a Parisian gamine; but as he watched her speak right there he could have sworn he saw flames rising around her – a real, bright fire catching her torn gown, melting in her dark, shiny hair. Enjolras was rather shocked hearing such words of wisdom and conviction coming from a simple girl and did not know what to make out of it.

"Éponine," he started in an unsteady voice, "you know that I cherish your dear advice greatly, but I must say that your knowledge of politics is lacking for you are -"

"What? Pray, do finish that thought, monsieur." Éponine urged him with hurt in her voice. "I am a female, that is what you are implying? Very true, monsieur – I am but a woman; I am dirt, I am dust, I am weak, I am nothing, but look around you! Every single person out there is my likeness and if you put these broken pieces of nothings together you get a full picture of the world in your hands. _I am the people. _Well then, quick – persuade me to follow you into the fire and burn with you, give my empty life a meaning, light my way to the grave for that is what you do to your friends, monsieur! Look at me! I am your only chance and yet you wouldn't even bother getting to know me. I am not a puppet for you to play with, monsieur. I am a _weapon._"

"Enjolras?" Éponine's voice brought him back to reality. She was looking at her with a frown on her face. "I just said I could look into it if you really think I'm the woman for the job."

Enjolras nodded a little, his head feeling very heavy. This is why it was so dangerous to be around her; these impossible visions wrapped him and choked him until he could see and feel nothing but her, always her – Éponine. He was pretty sure that this was not what the phrase 'daydreaming' originally meant.

His throat was dry and he felt extremely self-conscious around her as always; he didn't know how to stand, where to put his hand and so on, it was really getting on his nerves.

Enjolras looked at Éponine and took in the sight of her; her soft, shiny brown hair that fringed her heart-shaped face, her dark, compelling eyes he was having a hard time looking at and he couldn't help but compare her to the Éponine he saw in his visions – that Éponine was sad and angry and burst with fire but this Éponine, the _real _Éponine was different; she was more sweet-tempered and innocent, as if something tamed her. Yet Enjolras could see the remains of the fire in her eyes.

Éponine heard her phone buzzing and took it out of her pocket to see that she had a new message from Marius.

_Your dorm room is locked and C. won't answer, would u mind coming here? M._

Éponine snorted – Cosette was probably only asleep and Marius tended to overreact things that concerned his girlfriend, but what the hell – it will take a minute to get to the dorm and reassure Marius. She looked up at Enjolras and smiled apologetically.

"I have to go now; Marius is being a drama queen." Éponine said in a sarcastic tone and grabbed her jacket. Only the bell above the door that rang when she closed it behind her let the others know that she was gone.

The dorm was so close to the café she didn't even have time to think about anything, before she knew she had to fish her keys out of her pocket. She caught sight of Marius at the end of the corridor where their room was situated. She waved to say hello and with that she scared Marius to death. She smiled. He was rather jumpy today.

"No worries, I'm sure it's all okay." She told him as she opened the door. Éponine held up a hand to stop Marius from bursting in – they didn't want to wake up Cosette, after all. She walked in carefully and closed the door when Cosette appeared in the bathroom door wearing nothing but a top and panties – her crotch and legs was covered in blood.

Éponine froze. She almost let out a shriek but Cosette ran to her and put her hand on Éponine's mouth. "Just tell him that I'm okay, that I'm sleeping. He can come by later to check on me."

Éponine was left breathless. "But -"

"_Please_, 'Ponine. Please tell him I'm okay." Cosette pleaded in a dead voice. Éponine was now as white as a sheet and turned around to open the door just a bit.

"Marius." She called out, trying to tame her voice so she wouldn't sound too upset. She looked back at Cosette who was nodding, urging her. "Cosette is asleep. I don't want to wake her right now so you should just come around later."

"But she's fine?" Marius demanded. Éponine gasped.

"She's fine. Bye now." She breathed and shut the door. She and Cosette remained motionless as they heard Marius walking away. Then silence fell.

Éponine ran to Cosette and took her by the hand. "What the fuck happened to you? Are you okay, why are you bleeding?"

Cosette swallowed and an eerie smile showed up on her face. "It's gone. The baby's gone."

"_What baby_?" Éponine panted in horror. She was freaking out. "Cosette, you're not -?"

"I only found out a week ago. I didn't tell you because I didn't know what to do." She snorted. "Guess I won't have to worry about that now, huh?"

"Oh, my God, Cosette, you miscarried?" Éponine asked, her eyes wide. Cosette nodded. Éponine shuddered.

"It's okay, 'Ponine. I didn't even want to keep it." Cosette swallowed, looking in the distance. "It's just… all that _blood_."

"Honey, you have to sit down." Éponine commanded, finally finding herself. She ran her fingers through her hair, thinking hard. "We have to get you to the hospital – I'll call Marius -"

"No." Cosette cut her off, her voice determined. She wouldn't let Éponine do that. "Don't tell him. I don't want Marius to know yet."

"But, Cosette, he has to know. Besides, we don't have any money and clearly you can't walk to the hospital so _we need a ride_." Éponine whispered to her friend desperately.

Cosette shrugged. "Then call someone. Just not Marius."

Éponine let out a choking sound. "O-okay. I'll make a phone call and you- you go change, alright?"

Cosette nodded and went to the bathroom. She motioned just like a ghost.

Éponine took out her phone and barely dropped it, her hands were shaking so much. She dialed the only number that came to her mind.

"Enjolras." She said in a hoarse voice. "I need a favor."

oOo

Enjolras got there with his car in no time and soon he and Éponine were waiting anxiously in the hospital hallway. Cosette was in the check-up room and Éponine was out of her mind; racing around like a crazy person. Enjolras, who was sitting in one of the chairs suddenly grabbed Éponine by the wrist and stopped her.

"'Ponine, you have to try to calm down." He said to her softly. Éponine nodded and sat in the chair next to him. She covered her face with her hands, groaning.

"Easier said than done."

"I know, trust me." Enjolras replied.

"Thank you for getting us, Enjolras." She gabbled. "It's just – I opened the door and there she was, covered in blood and my heart stopped and I froze and I didn't know what to do and -"

"It's okay." Enjolras said in a low voice, reaching out and holding Éponine's chin up on an impulse so she could meet his gaze. "You did well. You're taking care of her."

"It's usually the other way around." Éponine murmured with a ghost of a smile on her face. "It's always her taking care of me. I'm lost, you know."

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. "And she finds you?"

Éponine nodded. "She finds me. I hope – I hope _I_ won't lose _her_ now."

"You won't, I'm sure. Cosette is a very strong girl; she just needs time to get better." Enjolras said, caressing her cheek and giving her a smile. Éponine leaned in to his touch and then looked up at him curiously.

"Why are being so nice? You don't like me, remember?" She whispered. To that he pulled his hand back and put it on the elbow rest of the chair. He frowned.

"I don't like people in general." Enjolras stated. "It's just – I don't know, I guess I just want to be… your friend." He looked at her with a question in his eyes. "Is that so bad?"

"No," Éponine replied, shaking her head. She put his hand on Enjolras', squeezing it. "it's not bad at all."

They were sitting there, holding hands until Cosette came out.

* * *

**OH MY GOD, WHAT JUST HAPPENED. I have no idea what came over me when I wrote this chapter, I just had this really strong visual of e/é holding hands in a hospital, and first I'm like: why are they in a hospital and the next moment THIS happens.**

**I'm so confused. Please forgive me; this was somehow necessary for their friendship to blossom. And Cosette's gonna be fine, she's just in shock right now.**


	6. Family, Duty, Honor

„So," Grantaire said, trying to find a comfortable position under the blanket, „'Family, duty, honor'. Family has never actually occurred to us when having a conversation, huh, 'Ponine?"

"I guess." Éponine croaked. Her eyes were focused on the TV screen; she really didn't want to go into that.

"So how are your folks?" Grantaire asked her, taking a sip from his bottle. Éponine shrugged.

"I wouldn't know – I cut them off last year." Éponine murmured. Grantaire winced.

"That sucks. Bad people?"

"Not good people." Éponine gritted her teeth, forcing herself not to recall her parent's face.

Grantaire nodded, eyeing her carefully. "Any siblings?"

Éponine smiled and the image of a messy haired blonde boy entered her mind. "Yes, I…" Then she stopped, her head feeling fuzzy. She didn't even brothers or sisters, she realized. She was an only child. "No."

"Yes-No?" Grantaire repeated with a frown, unsure of what Éponine meant. She shook her head.

"No, I don't. I don't know why I said that."

"Right." Grantaire replied absent-mindedly. He sighed. "I myself have got a sister somewhere. She's married to a gay senator who lives in D.C. She's also a drug addict."

Éponine's eyes widened. She turned her face to Grantaire's direction.

"Are you serious?"

"Yep." He nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Her name is Fleur and she calls me every once in a while to ask for money – but she was a prom queen back in the day so it was all worth it."

"Sounds like a winner." Éponine groaned.

"Oh, she is." Grantaire assured her, winking. "Just like the rest of my family."

"High-five." Éponine offered her hand.

"You got it."

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes as the closing credits came on.

"So, even though you declared us best friends when we first met we still don't know a lot about each other." Éponine whispered.

"I already know that you don't like to cuddle and that information is enough for me to break things off." Grantaire teased. "But all jokes aside; what human being doesn't enjoy cuddling? It's like the best thing in the world!"

Éponine shrugged. "I don't know, I guess I just don't feel the need to touch and hug people, let alone cuddle with them. Isn't knowing that I love them enough? Why should I lick their faces like some sort of cat?"

"Nobody said you should lick their faces." Grantaire reminded her. "But there is nothing wrong with letting someone know they're important by touching them."

"I guess." She frowned. "I've just never been that close with anyone before."

"What about Enjolras?" Grantaire snorted. Éponine couldn't help rolling her eyes in annoyance.

"Here we go again!"

"Come on, 'Ponine, you know I'm just teasing. I know there is nothing between the two of you, Enjolras – well, he isn't like that." Grantaire explained, his eyes flickered as he mentioned Enjolras. Éponine had learned the special relationship that was between the two men – their friendship was unlike anything she had seen before; Enjolras never missed an opportunity to lecture Grantaire and he kept teasing and mocking Enjolras. It usually seemed like they couldn't stand each other but when you really looked at them you could see that they were the best of friends who could understand each other without words. Éponine could tell that they were very fond of each other.

"Enjolras prefers not to surround himself with the opposite sex." Grantaire went on. "He doesn't do emotions and I'm pretty sure he never went on a date with anyone."

"Ever?" Éponine asked a bit shocked. Not that she thought Enjolras would just fly from girl to girl but he was, as Musichetta pointed out, 'a fine piece of art.' Wherever they were Éponine could always spot a group of giggly girls swooning over him from afar.

"Nope, that's why we call him the Marble Man – also because he is always so serious." Grantaire said, sitting back on the couch. He looked at Éponine observantly. "But I think he tolerates and acknowledges you as a person, that's the rarest thing, you see, you are very lucky."

"Huh." Éponine snorted. _He tolerates me. So that is what he's doing then._ "Thanks, that means a lot.

"You are very welcome." Grantaire joked. He looked at his beer for a second and then back to her. "So – another topic. What is your favorite movie?"

She grinned. "Are you sure you're ready for this conversation?"

"Uh, you're a movie geek, too? I thought you had your eyes only for books!"

"I commit to several things obsessively." Éponine nodded. "I don't have a favorite movie – I have hundreds."

"Then tell me your top ones." Grantaire urged her. Éponine winced.

"Can I take my time? It's not gonna be easy." She protested and Grantaire let out a bark of a laugh.

"Sure, kiddo." Éponine snorted at the nickname.

"What is your favorite movie, Cynical Guy?" She asked.

Grantaire gave her a serious and keen stare. When he spoke his tone was dead serious as well.

"I'm not shitting around, 'Ponine; yours is a question that many failed to get an answer to. This is a personal matter that defines my entire character and I don't just walk around telling people about it." He told her. "But you have proved yourself to be honest good at heart, Éponine Thénardier, so I'm trusting you with my secret and I'm actually going to tell you what my favorite movie is."

Éponine stared. "Okay. I'm anxiously waiting. Also I'm a little scared right now."

Grantaire ignored her comment and solemnly announced: "My favorite movie is _Bend It Like Becham_."

Éponine's eyes widened in shock. She opened her mouth to say something but failed miserably.

"Are you serious?" She finally managed to say in a hoarse voice. Grantaire only nodded.

"I am completely serious – I never joke when it comes to this movie. I also don't believe in that shit that your favorite movie has to be all profound and meaningful. _Bend it Like Becham_ is the inspirational and emotional journey of a young woman whom people tend to define by her culture and race and her only burning obsession is football!"

Éponine still couldn't find words so Grantaire continued.

"It is a subject that moves my very drunken heart and makes me want to rebel against my mother - who wants me to marry an Indian doctor and cook Chole-Bhature for the rest of my life - and run off to Germany with my all-girl football team!" Grantaire said passionately, for a minute fully awake now and his voice suddenly full of life.

Éponine glared at Grantaire and started laughing. He looked at her disapprovingly.

"This is not funny!"

"Oh I know, I know." She assured him, wiping off her tears, still grinning widely. He tried to regain her calmness but just started laughing again. Grantaire grunted and lay down on the couch, pulling the blanket on him, getting ready to fall asleep right there.

"Grantaire." Éponine called in an apologetic voice.

"What?" He whimpered. She smiled.

"I'm sorry I laughed at you – I'm happy you told me what your favorite movie was; it's nice to know that you trust me."

"It's okay." Grantaire replied after a short pause.

"You're not mad at me?"

"No."

Not long after that Grantaire successfully fell asleep, snoring under the blanket. Éponine sighed – _there goes my idea of the Game of Thrones marathon. _She was sitting there, deep in her thoughts and in peace when she felt someone breathing above her.

"What are you guys doing here?"

"_Shit_ – you just scared the living hell out of me, Enjolras!" She shrieked and turned around to face him. The room was dark but Éponine could still make out his tall figure, his blonde hair and the brightness of his blue eyes. It had been two weeks since they decided to be friends and they had spent a lot of time together – sometimes just the two of them and sometimes with the others but Éponine still felt all giddy inside at the sight of him. He smiled and held up a hand.

"I'm sorry. But why exactly are you in my apartment with Grantaire?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

Éponine was honest enough a person to blush. "Oh, you know, snuck in with Grantaire's key to watch Game of Thrones all night – but this idiot fell asleep because he's boring and weak."

"Also very drunk." Enjolras nodded.

"I think that's more of a personality description rather than a quality that stands only for now." Éponine chuckled and the sound made Enjolras feel all wobbly inside. Though he had found that spending more time around Éponine helped him get used to her and how she made him feel but there were things that still left him out of breath – like the sound of her laughter or her dimples when she smiled; they left a tingling feeling on the back of his neck and in his palms, desperate to reach out and touch her.

But he couldn't – he shouldn't. They were friends now and friends didn't do that, Enjolras never felt the need to touch Combeferre or Grantaire though they were very good friends to him, no; this feeling was something else, a need – an urge so strong, so foreign and yet so incredibly familiar to him.

Enjolras clenched his hand into fist. Éponine's presence also helped pushing down the visions he had of her or the two of them; they weren't so consuming and ecstatic now as they were in the beginning but they were still there; in soft whispers and vague pictures. She was like a Band-Aid; with her help his wounds were no longer burning and exposed to the air to chew on but they were hidden under her sweet care; he wasn't so aware of them now but the wounds were never forgotten, they were oh so painfully there.

Enjolras looked at Éponine who was making a face, thinking about what she should say next. She had this adorable frown, almost a pout, really, that he found rather endearing.

"So," she said, "are you going to make it up to me?"

"What?" He asked, startled.

"Your friend being a terrible TV buddy." Éponine said, motioning at Grantaire who was snoring slightly on the couch. "Come on, Enjolras; watch Game of Thrones with me. You know you want to."

Éponine said that to him with puppy eyes, her tone rather teasing. That had become her defense mechanism in the past 2 weeks; she teased Enjolras basically non-stop because she knew that otherwise she would just stare at him incredulously and without a word. It still hit her every day – every time she entered Café Musain, every time she saw him walking around on campus, every time he gave a speech, fire lurking in his eyes and every time she was in his apartment and he didn't mind: he was really there, close enough for her to touch.

Spending more time with him meant finding out more and more about his person – Éponine wasn't surprised to find that Enjolras was a genuinely kind person who you could trust without a second thought. But he was so brilliant and driven by his heavenly ideas of equality that he sometimes forgot that people just wanted to live their lives and progress wasn't necessarily their priority and that made him angry and he got mean. He wasn't a saint, she could tell that those without a purpose genuinely irritated him and he called them by names – 'idiot' or 'moron' or God forbid 'For The Love Of God'.

And now they were watching Game of Thrones; she and Enjolras, curled up on his sofa, Éponine watching it in delight with her eyes wide open and Enjolras having a slightly disgusted expression on his face. After watching 2 episodes Éponine stretched her arms and legs, yawning. She looked at her companion who was just sitting there, his face impossible to read.

"Too much?" Éponine asked carefully. "I understand – I'm not sure about Daenerys either. I really want to believe Ser Jorah when he says that Dany's got a gentle heart and all but she's making it hard for me with all the 'I will BURN MY ENEMIES WITH FIYAH AND BLOOD.' I don't know, she's just scaring me a little, I don't think she should be queen, do you?" Éponine gabbled, glancing at Enjolras.

He gave her a look.

"I don't think anyone should be king or queen, Éponine. What is the matter with the people of Westeros?" Enjolras whispered violently, gesturing like a madman. Éponine giggled. "Monarchy is the source of all the bad things – they should work together and rise and overthrow the whole system! One kingdom is bad enough, not to mention SEVEN. SEVEN KINGDOMS, ÉPONINE, DO YOU FEEL ME?"

Éponine snorted.

"What?" He asked.

"It's just – you are so naïve, Enjolras!"

"Excuse me?" Enjolras asked, sounding shocked.

"I just mean…" She trailed off, blushing and surprised at her own outburst. "It's just that you are so used to being the smartest person in the room that you feel there is nothing more for you to learn. Make no mistake, I do think that you are onto something but you gotta see this: whatever label you put on it, power is power. Doesn't matter what name you give it; king or prince or chief of staff or prime minister, it's always the same. People will always aspire to get the power. You need to realize that monarchy is not the problem; it's not the system that needs to change, it's the people."

Enjolras was stunned – he had never had anyone, especially not a girl tell him that the way he saw the world was wrong, it was the most extraordinary experience. Was she right, he mused. Was he completely wrong about all this? He never questioned himself when it came to his believes of the republic and justice and equality – but maybe he should have. He just hadn't had Éponine before to call on him. Enjolras couldn't find words to express his amazement and admiration he held for her now. He stared at Éponine and felt a foreign ache in his body; he wanted to close the gap between them and touch her, hold her and let her know how special she really was, how there was no one quite like her. He winced at this sudden urgency and glanced away.

"Um," he cleared his throat, "thank you, Éponine."

"For what?" She sounded surprised.

"For being the smartest person I've ever met." Enjolras said genuinely. Éponine gazed at him in surprise. She blushed.

"I do hope I haven't offended you." She murmured. He smirked.

"Not at all – I've never enjoyed having someone tell me I was full of shit more."

It was such a sweet and ridiculous scene Éponine couldn't help but burst out in a brilliant and heartwarming smile that made Enjolras' cheeks redden. He snorted and rubbed his face in embarrassment. Éponine was still smiling at him, crinkling her nose.

"I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I suggested watching Game of Thrones, huh?" She asked, rolling her eyes. He merely nodded.

They sat there in silence for a couple of minutes and for the first time they both felt that it was a comfortable one. The awkwardness must have faded away and walls fell down on both sides – even if just for a second. Éponine felt that she could ask Enjolras anything now and he would answer honestly – this was one of those rare moments of being sure in life.

"Does he do that a lot?" Éponine had no idea what possessed her to have the opportunity to ask him anything in the world and ask about Grantaire. "Sneak in and crash here?"

"More often than he cares to admit." Enjolras answered with a half-smile, looking at his friend.

"How long have you known each other?" She frowned. _Certainly not longer than I've known you_, a voice said in her head.

"Um," Enjolras replied, "for about 8 years now, I think. We were twelve when we first met. He just started following me around and I pretended I hadn't noticed."

"8 years." Éponine echoed absent-mindedly. "That's a lifetime. Do you remember where you were 8 years ago today?"

Enjolras was clearly surprised by her question. "No? Do you?"

She had an eerie, sad smile on her face. "Yes, I do. But I have my reasons – it was my 10th birthday."

"Wait, _today_ is your birthday?" Enjolras asked, sounding astonished.

"Well, technically, _yesterday_ was my birthday because it is now fifteen minutes past midnight." Éponine murmured in response.

Enjolras gazed at her – for him it was okay not to make a big deal out of his birthdays but he knew that most people loved them – he wasn't sure whether or not he should be surprised that Éponine wasn't most people.

"Happy birthday." He whispered. The corners of her mouth curled up.

"Thanks – I normally don't tell anyone about it; Cosette is the only one who knows and she already wished me happy birthday."

"How _is_ Cosette?" Enjolras asked, sounding really concerned. It had been 2 weeks since the incident that happened to her and he knew that Éponine was out of her mind, worrying about her.

But now a relieved and somewhat happy smile appeared on Éponine's face.

"She is much better."

Éponine tried to push down the memories of Cosette's miscarriage and the honest fear in her friend's eyes the past few weeks but now she was right to hope that things will be okay again. She visited Cosette at Marius's today – that was where she lived now, basically, and even though it was only supposed to be temporary, seeing Cosette and Marius together at his place Éponine knew for sure that Cosette was never going to move back to the dorm with her. The events of sorrow brought them closer together with her boyfriend than ever.

Éponine recalled that day at the hospital – silent tears and broken smiles and Enjolras' hand never leaving hers. She remembered Marius storming in a couple of hours later, worried sick and terrified, demanding to see Cosette immediately. He literally shouted at one of the nurses when she informed him that no visitors were yet allowed – so they let him in and Éponine could sneak a peek of the two of them through the crack of the door; Marius holding onto Cosette and she grabbing at him, his head buried in his neck, weeping silently.

But time had gone by and Cosette was healing; her fair hair regaining its fairy-like glowing and her smile its sincerity. When Éponine showed up at Marius' she answered the door and threw her arms around Éponine, shrieking in happiness. Marius and she talked about casual stuff like Cosette's addiction to this TV show and needing to buy more cereal.

Then the boyfriend left, kissing Cosette's cheek and temple first and Éponine thought: _Maybe it really _was_ love at first sight._

"So," Éponine started once they were to themselves, "finding yourself again? How are you keeping up?"

"It's been good." Cosette nodded, taking along sip from her tea. "I didn't know how I would manage at first but then the doctor said something to me last week that changed my whole point of view on this."

"What'd he say?"

"That he knows it's pretty bad now but in time it all will seem like a bad dream. Like it never even happened."

"Oh?" Éponine asked, arching her eyebrows. "And…?"

"And that was the biggest bullshit anyone has ever said to me. I mean it's not a bad dream I can run away from, 'Ponine. This shit is real life and the pain and the grief I might feel is a part of me and I don't ever, _ever_ want to forget it." Cosette said, her tone and expression determined, her pretty face more mature than usual. Éponine smiled at her and squeezed her hand encouragingly. "A nurse even said that she would take the pain away if she could – and I just – no. It's mine and I do not want it removed from here." She said, pointing at her heart.

"But Marius gets it." She continued. "He gets the whole thing and understands me, too. He's the best thing in all of this – apart from you, of course."

"Good thing you ran into him at the store and fell in love with the very sight of him." Éponine joked.

Cosette shook her head, her smile now somewhat bitter. "There is no such thing as love at first sight, 'Ponine."

_And yet_, Éponine now thought, sitting next to Enjolras, _she might never be the same person again._

"She's coming back to school and everything." She went on. "She already discussed things with her professors, they are really understanding."

"That's good." Enjolras sighed. She nodded in response.

"How was your tenth birthday anyway?" He wanted to know.

"Well, you know, the usual." Éponine murmured, not quite paying attention. "A cake, presents… my father hit me."

Enjolras' head jerked up and he stared at Éponine in astonishment. "_What?_"

"Nothing." She said quickly, looking down but Enjolras wouldn't let it go; he was looking intently at her.

"Éponine." He said warningly. She let out a shaky breath.

"He was in a really dark place; he lost his job and got himself into debt… he came home drunk and angry." She was whispering. "We – Mama and I – were in the kitchen. He came in, started yelling at my mother, _really awful things_ and I started crying and he – he hit me… here." She said, moving her hand to her neck. "I remember not being able to breathe… and then the next morning he came to my room, kissed me on the forehead and said he was sorry and that he loved my very much…"

When she glanced up, he saw real pain in Enjolras' eyes – why was he hurt? It was her burden, not his.

"Was that the only time he…?" He asked in a husky voice. She smiled.

"No." Her answer was almost inaudible. Enjolras let out a choking sound and reached for Éponine's hand ever so gently.

They gazed at one another; his eyes were so blue like the very sky; deep and beautiful and eternal and _life. _His voice was pained when he spoke.

"I'm so sorry, Épona."

Éponine froze – not only because these were the exact words her father said to her that morning after but because he, Enjolras knew the name, the secret name she and her Papa shared.

"What did you just call me?"

Enjolras looked puzzled. "I-"

"You just called me Épona – how do you know this name?" She asked staring at him. Enjolras was speechless; he just glared back at her, seemingly horrified.

She was the first to look away, her cheeks flustered. "Shit. It's late – I should go."

He didn't react so she just nodded to herself, getting up from the couch. She was about the leave the room when he called after her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"To the dorm?" She said like it was a question, still not quite herself. "Why, will you not let me?"

"If what you are asking is whether or not I will let you out in the middle of the night to be surrounded by criminals, drug dealers and the like then no; I will most certainly not let you." Enjolras replied in a serious and slightly angry voice but he gave her a smile and she realized that he did it, too – the smiles and the teasing, it wasn't just her; Enjolras did something similar as well.

_Maybe he's got this strange feeling about me as I do with him_, she thought, then shook herself.

"Why are we friends again?" She rolled her eyes jokingly and then murmured an awkward thank you.

"It's okay." He answered, waving. _Yes, let's do that. Let's pretend nothing is strange between the two of us. _"I'll sleep here, you can use my bed."

"Oh, I shouldn't-" Éponine protested but Enjolras cut her off.

"Nonsense; Grantaire snores quite heavily, I wouldn't want to put you through all that."

The next day Éponine awoke to the blinding shine of the sun and found that she slept through the night – and probably never had slept better. She slept embracing Enjolras' pillow and blushed at the thought; it smelled of him – it had the scent of his aftershave and mint and peace.

She tiptoed out to the living room and her eyes lingered on the still asleep Enjolras; his curly hair messy and his face peaceful and beautiful. She smiled – and found Grantaire eyeing her from the dining table.

"Quite the sight isn't it." He asked her, his mouth full of cereal. "He's not his usual angry or pedantic self, but sleeping like a baby."

"_Back To The Future_," She said randomly and confused Grantaire. "That's my current favorite movie."

"Took you long enough." He grinned. Éponine merely shrugged.

Enjolras woke up about half an hour after she had left, and was making breakfast next to Grantaire.

"Was she the first to rise?" He asked his friend.

"No," came the answer, "but she will be the first to fall."

For whatever reason, that statement made Enjolras breathe heavily.


	7. Bane Of My Existence

_For long minutes all Enjolras could hear was the sound of the paper creasing. They sat there, Éponine and him in a candle-lit room above Café Musain in complete, undisturbed silence for Éponine hadn't said a word since forever; she just sat there, frowning and reading Enjolras's speech. The man sat in front of her, tapping a nervous rhythm with his feet, his fingers running through his hair occasionally – he was having an internal struggle about giving Éponine his notes, changing his mind every other second._

_Enjolras looked up at her; these silent evenings with Éponine were a part of his routine now and he found himself looking forward to it each day. He would spend the day at the university and discussing their plan with Les Amis and then he would arrange a meeting and she would be there. Éponine was always there, sometimes with Marius, sometimes on her own but she would be there nonetheless, standing in the back of the café, watching him fiercely, her face unreadable. _

_And when the meetings were adjourned and the rest of their group left she would walk up to him shyly with a question in her eyes. And he would nod and show the way to the room upstairs._

_Before these rendezvous Enjolras had never felt nervous about sharing his thoughts with another but with Éponine it was different. Everyone else that took an interest in his work always praised and admired his writings, made him sure that he was walking down the right path but not Éponine. No, she destroyed his confidence almost completely when she told him he had it all wrong and that is why Enjolras asked for her help, pleaded for it – he even offered her money but that only made Éponine angry._

"_I do not want your money, monsieur; otherwise I would have stolen it already." Came her questionable response. _

_But now there she was again, reading his speech with great care, not to miss a single word and Enjolras was out of his mind. What is she finds it outrageous? This matter was of great importance; rallying the people and calling them to battle was what lay at risk. If he was not fit to do it, then that meant forsaking his friends. That was something Enjolras could never bear. _

_He let out a weary sigh and glanced at Éponine once again; she was sitting there with her ragged hair and dirty face and torn clothing and his heart skipped a beat. Enjolras probably would have never so much as glance at Éponine if it hadn't been for her speaking out to him – when her eyes were afire, so bright and full of life Enjolras was quite taken aback by it. _

_Those eyes never failed to amaze him; so much could be found in them: hope, despair, sorrow and now the answer he was looking for – would his speeches make the people realize they are trapped by the system or would they have no effect?_

_Éponine finally finished reading and thinking; she moved a bit in her chair, searching for words._

"_Well?" Enjolras asked her, anticipation in his voice. Éponine cleared her throat and looked at the paper he gave her._

"'_Man is a sentient being, capable of reasoning and of acquiring moral ideas'..." She read, her voice full of inexplicable emotion. "Man is capable of flying. Flying high, across the sky from here to kingdom come; you too shall have wings, friends, the wings of freedom – let me give them to you and crown you with the ability to be the maker of your own destiny…"_

_Her voice trailed off. Éponine looked at Enjolras, her eyes practically glowing._

"_These are heartbreakingly beautiful words, monsieur." She said, confusing Enjolras a little. Éponine licked her lips in concentration. "But – how shall I put it? When Jesus himself came down from the heavens to rally and teach the people about God, he didn't use the language of the angels – he spoke to the people as if he were one of them, in their own language."_

_Her words threw Enjolras off – it was as though everything she said caught him off guard and he, who was always so good with words found himself with nothing to say. _

"_Erm," he said, clearing his throat, "what do you suggest, mademoiselle?"_

"_Oh, I would not dare suggest anything." Éponine murmured, bending her head. Enjolras tried to hide his smile._

"_I beg your pardon, mademoiselle, but that is why you are here." He reminded her in a rather amused voice. Éponine blushed and her eyes met his gaze._

"_Of course." She whispered. "I wouldn't want to waste your time, monsieur."_

_Enjolras frowned._

"_Éponine, there is no need to be so formal with me – when you told me how you felt about my ways you spoke so freely as though you and I were equals, and that is what I want us to be."_

_Éponine stared._

"_You truly want us to be equals?" He contentedly acknowledged that she left the formal address._

"_Of course." He assured her, nodding. "For that is what we are – or what we shall be once the state is overthrown. That is what I want for you, for me, for everyone – freedom, equality, rights."_

"_Oh yes." Éponine breathed. "That happens to be one of my points, as a matter of fact."_

"_Oh?"_

"_Yes." She nodded, picking his papers up again. "You say in this that everything will be different in the future – you talk about rights, politics, and democracy, education and shared brotherhood but – but that doesn't really make a difference, these things won't make the people rise."_

"_Upon my word, Éponine, do tell me; what will make them rise?" Enjolras asked, his hands covering his face. Éponine raised an eyebrow._

"_Do not talk to the blind about the beautiful scenery, do not tell the deaf about the music." She said then and Enjolras could almost hear fires blazing inside her once again. "The people shall not be moved by the new color of the sky when they are toads that cannot ever reach it – tell them about all the food their children will have, the bed they will sleep in every night, the fire heating their houses, the reasonable work they will do – these are the things that matter to them, and you knew that if you bothered to get to know them as they were, individuals. But no, Enjolras, Saint Michel is just some faraway land for you, innit? Here you are, still speaking and thinking as though I am a charity case, a thing – and I ain't want to be a thing! You could at least try to pretend that you are interested in my person but no, you just expect me to sit here all night to help you and hold your hand while you cross the street like I have nothing better to do, like I don't have my sister's hungry mouth to feed!"_

_Enjolras stared at the girl in front of her and could not believe his eyes and ears. Here she was, the girl ablaze that she shown herself to be all those nights ago, the part of her that was hiding in the daylight, the person she could have been if she had lived under better circumstances; brilliant, kind, passionate, and beautiful. She really was beautiful, he realized – chest heaving, face red and her eyes blazing with real passion and conviction. She was somewhat a wonder; Enjolras suddenly had the urge to reach out and touch her cheek, her hair and had to stop himself from doing so. What an ungentlemanly thought, good heavens!_

"_Forgive me, monsieur." She blurted out, massaging her temple. "It was not my place to say such things. I cannot even begin to imagine what came over me, you just – you just make me so angry."_

_Enjolras couldn't help but laugh now. It was a carefree laugh, free of concern or sorrow; he was laughing at himself, at her and at the impossibility of their situation. Such a heart-warming sound, thought Éponine, surprised. This was probably the first time she saw him show that he was indeed human with actual emotions and it made her feel a lot better._

"_It is quite alright." He said to her once he recovered. "I daresay I rather like this side of you, Éponine."_

"_Oh," Éponine whispered, not knowing what to say to this. "why, thank you, monsieur."_

"_Again, no need for such formalities – you are Éponine as I am simply Enjolras." He told her, growing tired of reminding her. _

"_It's funny." Éponine mused. "Do you even have a first name? Does any of Les Amis have a first name apart from Monsieur Marius? So strange that you shouldn't use it at all – even I who lives in the gutter have a full name – and you don't? It would seem to me, Enjolras that you are not a real person."_

_Éponine blushed as soon as she said that, not being sure why she would say something that had nothing to do with the topic of their conversation. One moment she was yelling at him and she was rambling about stupid business the next; these mood changes she had around the gentleman left her feeling rather uncomfortable. Éponine had never felt this way around anyone – not even Marius whom she admired so greatly. No, this feeling was different; such unsteadiness, such rush that Éponine couldn't quite put her finger on._

_The evenings she spent in his company somehow made her find that she could be herself; she didn't have to pretend to be better and more__bourgeois like she had to with Marius. The odd feeling was planted in her head that if she told Enjolras about her life, he would understand. He would probably have no idea what to say or react let alone how to comfort her but that would be fine because he would know and he would understand. He would know about her childhood – the dresses she had, the dolls she played with and the cats she tortured like some sick-minded creature; he would know that she was mean to Cosette because she thought that was the way to treat people, that she remembered countless nights when she couldn't sleep because of Cosette's cries and the stroking in her heart she felt when she saw Cosette walking away to the woods with a bucket in her hand, fear in her eyes. She felt bad but still she didn't do anything to make Cosette feel better; she was mean to her, she spat at her she despised her and when that man came to take Cosette away Éponine – for reasons unexplained – felt a hole gaping in her chest. Take me with you, please – I am selfish, I am blind, I am weak and I am nothing but please just take me with you, please don't leave me here with them…_

_And Cosette left and Éponine's enviable life vanished with her – her parents lost the inn and all kinds of compassion they had had with it; there were no longer kisses and gentle touches awaiting her, only rough hands hitting her and urging her to go away and not ever come back. Éponine shuddered as she thought of her home – or the remains of it; the hateful looks of her parents and the unhappy expression of her sister; how she stole, cheated and ran to wipe the miserable look from Azelma's face – Éponine now desperately wanted someone to know all that, she wanted Enjolras to know all that._

_Perhaps he would tell her it was all fine and what she did wasn't so bad after all; he would forgive her and she could start it all over, she could shake all these weights from her shoulder; Marius and her family and the guilt she felt due to Cosette and that she was a terrible person and finally she could be someone else; the person she daydreamed of being. A new, wonderful, beautiful Éponine and just like Enjolras, she could throw a part of her name away to become someone new entirely._

_"I do have a first name." Enjolras told her, bringing her back to the shadowy room. "But I prefer not to give it away – I daresay it is the bane of my existence."_

_"I wish I had such a light bane as my name, Enjolras." Éponine whispered with a sad smile. She stood up, getting ready to leave. "I must be off now, monsi- Enjolras. Bonne nuit._

"_Bonne nuit." Enjolras replied as he rose to his feet as well._

"_I hope I was of help."_

"_Yes, you were. Thank you, Éponine. Thank you. You must know that I do not take your help for granted." Enjolras replied seriously and he stepped forward._

_He looked uncertain and it was such a different quality to describe him by Éponine almost smiled. "Why do you have to go? If you do not mind my asking, that is."_

"_It is rather late, Enjolras, and my sister is waiting for me." Éponine said._

"_What is her name?" He asked, sounding genuinely curious now and she couldn't help but think of how she told him he didn't actually care. Is that why he was asking?_

"_Azelma." She involuntarily smiled as she said her sister's name. "She is but fifteen, I am responsible for her."_

_Enjolras look somewhat shocked. "You, alone? What of your parents?"_

"_They prefer not to take notice of us, unless they want something." Éponine replied darkly._

"_I am sorry – it was rude of me to bring it up. But do let me accompany you." He reached for his jacket._

"_Oh." Éponine hesitated. "It is very kind of you but I do not think-"_

"_It is not kind at all." Enjolras replied, interrupting her. "And I think it is time for me to see Saint Michel with my own eyes._

_Éponine smiled at him and Enjolras was taken aback by the unfamiliar feeling that attacked him – she affected him in a way no one else ever had and he wasn't sure he liked it. He should keep his distance from now on, he decided. Éponine was a woman and he had no business with the opposite sex; and that should remain the same._

_But friends, they just might be._

Éponine stood frozen on the street, staring. She had been looking at the girl through the shop window for several minutes now, not being able to look away. She had no idea why but the girl was so incredibly familiar she was thrown off by the feeling.

She was sitting behind the Starbucks counter, looking bored; she had long, mahogany brown hair and eyes as dark as the night sky and the look in them so fierce Éponine could swear she had seen her before – but there was nothing out of the ordinary about that, recognizing a barista girl from Starbucks is one of those cliché movements that happened to everyone, and yet-

It felt different. She didn't just recognize her, Éponine knew that girl, knew her face, the way she rolled her eyes and smiled, the way she cried when-

She shook her head; somehow so many things were trying to come to her Éponine felt dizzy. And still she couldn't shake the feeling that the barista girl knew her, too.

"Éponine?" She turned around to find Cosette behind her, holding an umbrella – because it was raining, quite heavily, actually, and Éponine didn't even notice. She looked down on herself and shivered – her clothes were soaked from the rain.

Éponine felt happy to see Cosette out for a change – the past few weeks her friend was doing her best to make things go back to normal and now it seemed that she managed. Cosette was rosy-faced again and back at school, still crashing with Marius but Éponine didn't mind that, in fact, she had already made a bet with Grantaire when the couple would make it official.

"I was just about to go see you – why are standing alone in the rain?" Cosette asked, sounding alarmed. Éponine shrugged.

"Don't know, I was just… standing about." She answered, taking a last glance at the girl from Starbucks. Cosette frowned and grabbed Éponine by the arm.

"Come on; let's get you inside before you get all sick!"

They went into the dorm and Cosette immediately made Éponine stand under the shower, which was probably a smart thing to do. As the hot water poured down on her neck and back, soaking her hair again she felt as if she were in heaven.

"Ah, can I just stay here forever?" She asked Cosette who was sitting on the toilet. Her friend chuckled.

"I actually came by because I needed to talk to you about something." She confessed and Éponine pulled the shower curtain aside a bit so she could see Cosette's eyes. She seemed happy, so there was nothing to worry about, then.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Well, you know how I have been spending most of my time at Marius', right?" Éponine involuntarily nodded even though Cosette couldn't see her but that was okay because she didn't really want an answer. "So, he asked me today to move in with him – for good."

Éponine's head jerked up. "What day is it?"

"What?" Cosette sounded confused. "It's Wednesday, the 12th."

"_Shit_." Éponine murmured under her breath. "I owe Grantaire money."

"You _what?_"

"For a bet that has nothing to do with what you just announced, of course." Éponine said quickly, rolling her eyes.

Cosette didn't really know what to make out of this.

"Right, okay. But back to what I just said – I would be moving out of our castle! Don't you feel, I don't know, betrayed?"

Éponine got out of the shower, putting a towel around her, then turned to Cosette.

"Cosette, you are my best friend, also the kindest soul on the planet. You deserve to be happy – and after the shit that went down the past month," Éponine's voice cracked here a little bit. "You deserve to do something that makes you happy – and I know being with Marius makes you happy and now I'm not worried about him with you because even though Les Amis are right and he is a goofy idiot with a cat that has identity disorder, he is a great guy. He loves you very much."

Éponine said all that in a very soft voice and Cosette felt tears in her eyes. "But – don't you think it's too soon?" She asked in a high-pitched voice.

"Do _you_?" Éponine raised her eyebrows. Cosette licked her lips.

"I- no." She gave the floor an unsteady smile. "It feels right to do this, 'Ponine. I really do love him – and he's been helping me get better so much. I think – I _know_ that saying yes is the right thing to do."

Éponine burst out in a smile. Seeing Cosette happy was one of the best things in life, really.

"I hope I'll find my special idiot once, too." She grinned.

"Don't you think that you already have?" Cosette replied with a suggestive smile on her face. Éponine turned red and cursed herself for thinking about Enjolras involuntarily.

"I have no idea what you are talking about." She said quickly. She _did_ know that the odd tension between Enjolras and her was something that she had to deal with sooner or later – how she might have feelings for him but also how it all was so much bigger than that with the vision, dreams, _memories_ she had of him and she only recently decided that she wasn't crazy… But then what the _hell_ was going on with her? God, she really didn't need any of this right now.

"You don't, huh?" Cosette chuckled. "That's why you turned all red."

"Shut up." Éponine said to her in a weak voice.

oOo

"So, I have tickets for the Long Night of Museums." Jehan announced proudly. "My English teacher got them for me – but turns out I can't go because I got this paper to write. Anyone here interested?"

"Nope."

"Sorry."

"Can't make it."

"Sure!" Éponine said with a smile, her eyes wide open. They were all gathered in Café Musain; Combeferre, Courf, Joly, Grantaire, Enjolras, Marius and now Jehan, who was the newest member of their group. Éponine and Cosette were sitting there with them, sharing a slice of cake.

"Thank you, Éponine. You restored my faith in humanity." Jehan said. "And in you guys, I am very disappointed. Why don't you want to go?"

"I just heard the word 'museum' and said no instinctively." Courfeyrac laughed. "Not one for long exhibitions."

"There will be exhibitions, alright." Enjolras said without looking up from his book. "Also a lot of music and beer."

"Whaaat? I want to go!" Courfeyrac yelled but Jehan only waved at him.

"Too late – this ship has already sailed."

"Just because Éponine said yes for the first time and I didn't?" Courf snapped. Éponine smiled at him.

"Suck it up." Then she grinned to herself. "I've always wanted to go to the Long Night of Museums!"

"You, at night? In Paris, all by yourself? I don't think so." Enjolras said, sounding determined. Éponine turned to him, not believing what she was hearing.

"Are you saying that you won't let me go?" She asked in a stern voice.

"Your hearing is spectacular." Enjolras replied sarcastically.

"It's not like I need protection!" Éponine snapped.

"Yeah, I'm sure you could take anyone with your 160 centimeters."

"Watch out, 'Ponine." Grantaire laughed. "He's going to build a barricade outside you room and not let you out."

"I'm tougher than I look." Éponine insisted, ignoring Grantaire's comment.

Enjolras gave her a serious look. "_I know that._"

"Well, then, you'll just have to come with me, because I am definitely going." Éponine told him, and she didn't look she was going to take no for an answer.

Les Amis watched them excitedly as they gazed at each other for a minute or two.

Finally, Enjolras sighed and rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"_Fine._"


	8. Rumpelstiltskin

**A/N: So my story has reached a 110 followers : ) I'm so happy so many people like it, I want to cry and cuddle with you – even though Éponine doesn't like cuddling. I'd like to thank everyone for following/favoriting/reviewing, you people are the BEST! **

**Here's another chapter – duh – also somebody gets drunk down the road, you're welcome ; ))**

**Also I'm sorry about the occasional spelling mistakes…**

It seemed as though the sun had just risen in the faint morning sky when Enjolras was making his way to the coffee shop. Café Musain was still closed at this time of the day and he had to put up with the coffee Starbucks had to offer, even though it was crowded and full of giggly ten-year-old girls who were loud and kept staring at him in a way that made Enjolras uncomfortable.

But it was a Friday and still rather early in the morning which meant less people and more black coffee for him. Enjolras really enjoyed the city in the morning; as he walked his way down the calm, almost empty street bathing in sunshine he always felt at peace with himself and the world as though there was an unspoken arrangement between him and the rest of the planet.

He also felt a connection between the pedestrians and himself, knowing that only those were out in the street that were determined and dedicated enough to wake up so early.

Enjolras sighed as he thought of finding Grantaire on his couch again that morning; it appeared that his friend didn't even know he owned an apartment himself and he was drunk 24/7. It worried Enjolras, really; make no mistake, Grantaire always was a happy drunk but recently he had been drinking constantly regardless of the time of the day.

The rest of Les Amis seemed to take no notice of their friend's behavior – none but Éponine who had been spending quite some time with Grantaire, she was there with him in the afternoon, talking to him and she was there when his friend would drop drunk on the floor, helping him stand.

God, it was hard to think about things that somehow didn't involve Éponine; the girl was on Enjolras' mind constantly and he wasn't sure how he felt about it – well, that was not entirely true considering how _aware_ of himself he was around her; the blood running to his cheeks and his head pulsing and the odd sensation of the fluttering in his stomach.

He didn't know what any of that was or what it meant and it really scared him; being Éponine's friend was hard and it was easy, it was amazing and it was terrible – Enjolras was confused most of the time and it was such an utterly new feeling he just wanted to scream sometimes.

He was so consumed by his thoughts that he accidently bumped into someone – a little boy with messy, blonde hair fringing his face.

"Hey, watch it_, twat_!" The little kid hissed at him, picking up his bag from the ground. Enjolras blinked and squatted to help him.

"I'm sorry." _Congratulations, keep thinking about her and sweep people off their feet literally. Idiot._

"Whatever." The little kid murmured, and then looked up at him, his eyes widened. "Hey, I know you! You're the guy who makes speeches all the time. My sister really hates you."

Enjolras frowned and took a more observant look at the boy – and recognized him; his was a face that he had seen several times when speaking in public on campus or on the streets. Courfeyrac knew him.

"You – you're Courfeyrac's friend, aren't you? What was it – Gaspard?" He asked.

"It's Gavroche." The boy corrected him but strangely enough didn't seem offended by getting his name wrong. He even gave Enjolras a half smile. "Used to be called Gaspard but my bud Antoine says that name's too old for me, makes me sound like a fucking loser."

Enjolras was a bit shocked by Gavroche's way of speaking, considering that the kid was like 10.

"Right." He nodded, not knowing what else to say to that. "Why does your sister hate me?"

"She says you're a bunch of privileged white boys jumping around out of boredom and you distract me from my studies." Gavroche reported, rolling his eyes. "Sometimes gotta skip school if I want to hear you speak."

"You really shouldn't skip school, you know." Enjolras remarked, feeling impressed by this odd little creature and worried at the same time.

"Right, thanks, Santa." Gavroche mocked. Enjolras sighed and looked Gavroche up and down.

"What are you wandering about here, Gavroche?"

"Oh, I ran away." He informed Enjolras causally. Enjolras raised an eyebrow. He looked around and saw a girl with long brown hair inside the coffee shop, arguing with a man. She was carrying the same kind of bag Gavroche had in his hand.

"Is that your sister?"

"Yep. My foster sister."

"When exactly did you run away?"

"Approximately 5 minutes ago." Gavroche announced proudly. Enjolras clenched his jaw, forcing himself not to smile.

"And does she know?"

"Nope." Gavroche spoke and looked Enjolras in the eye, a very serious expression on his face. "But don't tell'er. Don't want her to know. She would blame herself."

oOo

"For the last time, this is not a date!" Éponine belted. She was in her dorm room – well, it was technically still _theirs_ until Cosette officially moved out – wrapped in nothing but a towel, her hair still wet. She was supposed to be getting ready for tonight, excited to go to the museum and ignore the flutters in her stomach when Enjolras came to her mind. This was supposed to be one of those nights when she could feel light and normal; when she didn't have to think about the visions piercing her mind and soul, or the places and the people that felt familiar. She was supposed to feel like a nameless girl from an American movie, getting ready for a night out while really fun background music played from nowhere.

But no, she wasn't getting any of that as Musichetta and Cosette decided that they were essential in Éponine's preparations – which meant mocking her and bringing up the taboo topic that was Enjolras every other minute or so. She was getting really tired of it.

"Yeah, not a date at all." Musichetta snorted, running her fingers through her dark, curly hair. "Just the two of you in a dark museum, surrounded by beautiful art and romantic lightning, anything could happen – though I'm pretty sure The God has never even kissed a girl let alone had sex with one. You could teach him."

As she said that Éponine turned as red as the roses in M. Fauchelevent's back garden.

"Or not." Musichetta laughed when she noticed her look. "Oh, you innocent little flower, you. I totally thought that you had some boy-next-door guy back in Montfermeil with kisses and making out in his truck with Cyndi Lauper playing in the background."

"Well," Éponine stuttered as thousands of hidden images ran through her. _Montparnasse. _"That is partly true – I've just never, you know…"

Cosette now looked up from her magazine and her gaze met Éponine's. They communicated without words; Cosette knew that her life in Montfermeil was something for Éponine that she wished to leave untouched and not have talked about. She could still see the Thénardier house in front of her; windows without curtains, light shining through, soft cries, slaps, loud music, laughter. It was a place of horror for Éponine and Cosette had tried everything in her power to make her friend forget since they moved to Paris.

"Not sure about Cyndi Lauper." She added softly, unable to break her gaze from Éponine. "'Ponine was always the Bonnie Tyler kind of girl, you know, with _Lost In France_ and the like."

Musichetta laughed cheerfully to that, oblivious to the little moment her two friends shared. Éponine glanced gratefully at Cosette and she gave a little smile in return.

Éponine went back to the bathroom to finish getting ready – she put on the red dress Cosette had previously lent her and she dried her hair. As the calming sound of the hair-dryer rang in her ears Éponine was once again lost in her thoughts, and this time her mind surprisingly wasn't wandering on and about Enjolras but Montfermeil. The wretched home she left about a year before; the house with open hurt and hidden treasures; her mum's smile, her dad's hand in hers, Montparnasse's charming half-smile and his black locks.

Éponine recalled the day he entered her life; a fatherless boy who was not a day older than fifteen. Montparnasse was the very first person to notice Éponine; he was the boy the lit up her world. He kissed her told her she was beautiful and he loved and that they would get married straight out of high school and he would buy her a castle and hide her there for no one but him to see.

And Éponine believed all that and welcomed it; she was a fifteen year old girl with a father who occasionally beat her and a mother whose smile was frozen on her face. She ached to touched and loved by someone, someone from out there who can take her away with them – and Montparnasse said he would, he promised he would love her always.

But this always wasn't as sacred and beautiful as Éponine thought – hoped – it would be; 'Parnasse's mother passed away and he was alone and unprotected in the world, he would have done anything to keep himself from drowning. He got tangled in the bad business; hung around dubious fellows he drank a lot, cussed a lot, hit a lot – not Éponine but the things around her, tables, chairs and books flew to the other side of the room.

His kisses got rough and squeezed all strength out of her and Éponine did not enjoy feeling weak and tiny, and being choked by someone. Albeit his touch was something Éponine wanted no longer, his whispers were just as soft, saying that he would love her forever, and somehow Éponine felt inside her that in his own, broken way, he would. It just didn't matter anymore.

Then she left her parent's house and Montfermeil too, never looking back, never saying goodbye. For all she knew, Montparnasse didn't even know she left her hometown, and it was alright that way. She had never once thought of him, of _them_ – they were a part of the cloud of flames and smoke that she left behind.

When she was finally ready she stepped out of the bathroom, taking one final glance at her reflection in the mirror.

"Oh my God." Musichetta mumbled, tapping the laptop she had now in her lap. Both Cosette and Éponine turned toward her. "Did you guys know that if you did it an alley there's 75% more chance of getting infected by some sort of remain of the plague?"

"What the hell is wrong with you." Cosette bawled and Éponine eagerly nodded.

"Nothing." Musichetta blushed slightly, possibly for the first time in her life. "I just like reading about different diseases."

_Musichetta was quite something_, Éponine pondered as someone knocked on the door. She looked at the clock. _Hm, strange. He's 10 minutes late._

She opened the door to find a flustered Enjolras outside, he was slightly panting as though he had been running. He gave her a look and she was suddenly bathing in the blueness of his eyes and God, she wasn't prepared for that.

"Sorry I'm late." He gulped. "I totally forgot about myself and ran out of time."

"And you were reading, what?" Éponine raised her eyebrows suggestively and that made Enjolras laugh – of course she would know.

"_The Book Thief_."

"Ah, then I understand." She sighed, waving with her hand. "Shall we?"

"Sure, let's go." Enjolras nodded, then noticed Cosette and Musichetta grinning wildly behind Éponine. "Hey, guys."

Cosette waved.

"Hello, there." Musichetta replied. "So aren't you scared, white boy? There's gonna be a lot of loud music and alcohol – you can get drunk just by smelling the air."

"Don't worry, 'Chetta, I'll protect him." Éponine answered with a playful smile. Enjolras crinkled his nose. "Plus, there's also gonna be an exhibition of Renaissance paintings so I think he'll be good."

Before either of them had a chance to react to that, the door was already shut, Éponine and Enjolras were out in the night.

"They should get married." That was all that Musichetta said and Cosette couldn't have agreed more.

oOo

It was alright so far. The two of them were walking around in the museum, seeing every exhibition and buying all the brochures; quietly debating about Monet and Van Gogh, Renaissance and Neo-expressionism, Voltaire or John Locke. Okay, so maybe it was more than alright, maybe it was magnificent and neither of them had ever had more of a good time before; they were the only people in the museum below the age of 55 and they spoke quietly but with great passion. They both had very strong opinions when it came to – well, anything.

"This is really fun." Éponine admitted. "My Dad and I used to go to museums all the time."

Enjolras now stopped smiling, he quickly looked at Éponine. She froze, too; it usually wasn't weird telling people little things like that but Enjolras was one of the few that knew how her father was, he knew what Papa did to her. And now things got really awkward by bringing him up.

They stood there, next to each other for a while without saying anything and Éponine realized just how strange they were – like a switch; when it clicked it was easy and it was right and they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle but when the switch was unclicked they became distant again, the spaces between them were filled with vague memories of words left unsaid.

Enjolras was the one to break the silence.

"Tell me." He said in a hoarse voice, and then cleared his throat. "About _before._"

Éponine knew what he meant; he wanted her to speak about her childhood, her parents, the games she played and the jokes she shared, _before_ his father got abusive and _before_ she left it all behind.

"It was amazing at first." She started, licking her lips. Enjolras was looking intently at her. "My Dad and I were really close; we did everything together – Maman said we were alike like two eggs. Always reading and talking and laughing together, he was my best friend. And then- and then it all turned into a nightmare when he hit me for the first time. I met Cosette, you see, and then she was my best friend, she was my safe place. She still is. I practically lived at their's – because that's what you did. You lived in other people's house for there was an ache to being your own, a fear. You were just convinced that happiness lay elsewhere."

She swallowed hard, feeling tears in her eyes – but she would not cry, not here, not in front of him.

"But we used to go to museums a lot – he was the one that showed me the beauty of art, really. How the colors all fit together, how the shapes washed into each other. I relied on him. He always protected me; never let anything bad happen to me… I owe him a lot – and nothing at the same time."

That was it – the first tear broke through and painted her face, a picture of sorrow. Enjolras took her hand and slightly squeezed it. He looked at her deep in the eye.

"You listen to me now, Éponine." He said, his eyes somewhat sparkling. "You are a wonderful person and don't owe anybody anything. I'm so very sorry about what happened between you and your father, but hear this – you are a complete whole and you don't need anyone let alone your father to make you a full person. You are strong any smart and funny and you are just fine on your own – but if that makes you feel any better, then I won't let anything bad ever happen to you."

Éponine just stared at him in wonder; Enjolras always was great with words but that little speech came out of nowhere and caught her off guard.

"You – you won't?" She stammered. Enjolras must have realized what he said and tore his gaze away from her, blushing.

"Well – well no. I won't – we're friends, right?" He asked her in an unsteady voice. She looked away as well and nodded.

"Right. Friends." Éponine let out a shaky breath and looked at the ground, seemingly fascinated by it. "Well – let's go, Botticelli's this way!"

Enjolras smirked and went after her.

oOo

"I can't believe this." Éponine said, staring at a painting in awe.

"What?" Enjolras required, confused.

"Look, look at it!" She motioned at the picture. "You, Enjolras, have the exact same chin as Botticelli's Venus!"

He needed a minute of silence to process that information.

"What?!" I do not."

"You do, too! Oh my stars, the resemblance is uncanny!" She giggled, suddenly feeling that this picture was a God send. "It's the same chin and jaw line – I can see it; 'Sandro, nice touch with the naked goddess but we need a defined, charismatic chin to make her memorable, who do you think it should be?' 'Oh, my, Simonetta, I cannot think of anyone but Enjolras; ask him to come in tomorrow and I shall paint his chin for the whole world to see."

"You're insane." Enjolras stated, laughing at her impossible words. She was laughing too, a loud, happy laughter, showing the dimples on her face.

"Hold that though – I'm gonna go to the bathroom."

Enjolras nodded and waited. And waited and waited – in fact, it had been way too long since Éponine left, even calculating in the fact that the line in the ladies' room was universally twice as long as the in men's room.

He went looking for her, and almost got a heart attack when he finally found her in the courtyard. She was standing next to a beer tap, talking to a guy that he recognized; it was Feuilly with whom Enjolras was taking Politics together.

Éponine seemed to be having fun; her cheeks were flustered and she was laughing twice as loudly as she normally would. She had been drinking, he realized.

"Éponine?" He called out to her, confused and bit worried for her. She noticed him immediately.

"ENJOLRAS." She shouted and ran to him, wrapping her arms around his neck, hugging him fiercely. He didn't know how to respond to that, to be honest.

"Are you drunk?" Enjolras whispered to her, suddenly feeling really warm.

"Dunnow." She rambled, giggling again. "I had like 2 beers, but then again, Cosette always says I shouldn't drink because it's bad for me; one beer and I get waasteeed."

"Right."

"Hey, Virgin Lips." Feuilly greeted him with a grin on his face. "Sorry, bro, didn't know she was you girlfriend."

"She's not-" Enjolras wanted to protest but Éponine's laughter cut him off.

"Virgin Lips?" She shrieked. He sighed.

"Don't ask."

"It's not that hard to figure out." Éponine remarked, feeling all giddy and colorful on the inside. It was really the best night ever – and Enjolras was there and she just wanted to hug him and never let him go. "Ooh-ooh, Enjolras! Guess what, I figured out what your first name is."

"'Ponine, there's no way in hell you could've possibly figured out what my first name is."

"But I did – listen: it's Rumpelstiltskin!" She announced proudly, laughing at her own joke wildly. Enjolras made a face – he had never seen her acting like this before.

"O-kay. Let's get you home, Éponine."

"What? No! The night has just started, good heavens, Enjolras, you are such a buzzkill!" She rolled her eyes in annoyance, jumping around him.

"Éponine, you're clearly drunk and we have already seen all the paintings! What else could there possibly be to do?" Enjolras snapped. "I'm taking you home."

"Not home, I don't want to go home; I don't want them to find me!" She whined, her eyes distant.

"Who do you not want to find you?" He begged, but Éponine merely shrugged.

"Ugh, you're always like this! Blonde, curly hair, big words and that jacket – where is it anyway?"

"What?" Enjolras breathed, suddenly feeling the sky spinning around him.

"The red jacket that you always wear – wherever have you put it?"

**BAM – To Be Continued.**


	9. Absolutely Terrifying

**A/N: Thanks, everyone, for the lovely reviews and follows : ) It's been a week since the last update, I'm sorry but I was away on a trip and I couldn't find time to write, but now here you go!**

* * *

"_The red jacket that you always wear – wherever have you put it?"_

The world was spinning. Éponine's surroundings were running around in circles, chasing the sky; colors biting into each other, becoming shapeless stains, loud, incontrollable laughter ringing in her ear, music throbbing in unison with her heartbeat. She closed her eyes, and then opened them. She felt numb but incredibly alive at the same time – she could see everything; the sky above her and the ground below, the trees and the museum building and the people having fun and the band playing in the background and Enjolras. Actually, now that she came to think about it, she could see Enjolras twice; he was there, wearing his shirt and jeans, taking the cup out of her hand and there was a shape of him next to the real him; his face serious and dedicated, his curly blonde hair hiding the fierce blue eyes he had, he was wearing the red jacket as always. Éponine was confused. She blinked and realized that she couldn't quite tell them apart – which of these men was the real one, which of them was _hers_?

The Enjolras who was not wearing the red jacket gave her a worried and stunned look and her heart skipped a beat – it was him, her Enjolras. Éponine let out a relieved sigh and smiled at him a mesmerizing smile that made Enjolras's knees weaken.

His ears were ringing and he felt as dizzy as ever and Éponine was giving her a look that made him think he forgot something; something so obvious and important, something that was _right there_ and yet he just couldn't see it.

Éponine's question regarding his clothing made fireworks explode in his head; he thought of his wings and his brothers and blood and gunshots - and then he was flying; out of windows and out of hearts and out of worlds, really, until there was nothing left but Éponine and him.

"What – what red jacket?" He asked in a weak, hoarse voice, his logical side still trying to make sense of things. After all, he didn't own a red jacket now, did he?

Éponine's face radiated calmness and happiness as he glanced at her; she was so happy he was there with her, even though he didn't remember – none of them did. But still, she just wanted to be close to him and kiss him because he was there and so was she and she remembered him and the days they had spent together.

"Oh, you know – the one that you always wear, that hideous red one. Did you finally get rid of it? I told you it looked stupid and then you just rolled your eyes and said that it was the color of freedom and revolution and power and that it symbolized your cause. You've always been a sucker for symbolism." Éponine was babbling with an absent-minded smile on her face. Enjolras had no idea what she was talking about, he didn't understand the situation and he really disliked not understanding things, not being able to control them.

His mind was fuzzy and somehow overloaded with visions and feelings and smells that rang familiar but still he couldn't place them. Almost every part of his body screamed the same word, her name. Éponine, Éponine, Éponine – suddenly he just really wanted to feel her mouth against his but he couldn't find a way to move.

Enjolras shook himself. "I need to sit down."

Éponine nodded and smiled at him, taking his hand in hers to help him get to a bench. As he sat down it occurred to him just how ridiculous this whole situation was; Éponine was drunk and clearly raving yet he was the one that needed to sit so he wouldn't pass out or something.

Éponine sat next to him without a second thought and brought their hands together again; she took his left hand and brought it to her lips, kissing his palm gently, almost lovingly. Enjolras was struggling for air.

He was looking at her with his mouth slightly open, storms raging in his eyes, completely stunned. Éponine licked her lips and quietly giggled.

"A kitty got your tongue?" She teased.

"You-" Enjolras said, trying to form actual words, "what has gotten into you?"

"I haven't the slightest idea what you could possibly mean." She replied, crinkling her nose. "Aren't I always like this?"

Was she, he mused now. Was she always like this; so clear and pure and close to touch, so beautiful and carefree – was he drunk as well? But he didn't even drink anything and yet the world just wouldn't stop spinning.

"No, you're- you're… um." This might have been the first time Enjolras couldn't make out a sentence. He sighed in frustration. "I should just get you home, Éponine."

"Home…" She echoed in a whisper. "Okay."

Enjolras ran his fingers through his hair and rose, offering Éponine a hand. She took it and two of them walked back in the building of the museum and then out to the parking lot, not saying a word in the meantime.

As they sat in the car Enjolras got quite lost in his thoughts while driving. He was never one to take notice in the opposite gender, he just simply didn't care for such things and thought of girls as distraction. He always had been ambitious and knew exactly what he wanted and how he wanted it; he had great goals in life and he was convinced that starting a relationship of any kind would only take his mind off of the important things in his life. Enjolras had things figured out; he was in college, with a reasonable apartment, with friends that supported him, he was going to be a lawyer and fight the wrongs of the world – maybe even consider a political career.

There was only one woman in his life and that woman wasn't even real for he only met her at night when he was dreaming – until one rainy day he stepped in Marius's apartment and there she was; Éponine, the nameless girl he had known since he could remember, she was now a part of his life and he had to fight the urge to be as close to her as possible. As far as he was concerned it was an abnormal thing to feel – after all, he did say to Éponine that he wanted to be her friend and friends do not engage in that sort of thing so he should just stick to being a friend.

But _damn_ it was hard.

Everything was so strange between the two of them and Enjolras didn't know for sure if it was only because of the impossible visions he occasionally had of her or something else. God, the visions had to stop before he would lose it completely, he sighed to himself.

He was going nuts and he enjoyed every minute of it because it meant seeing more of Éponine, he realized. What the hell.

"Enjolras." Éponine's quiet call broke him out of his reverie. He glanced at her and saw that she was no longer wearing the dazed smile on her face, possibly meaning that the effect of any alcohol in her system was wearing off.

"Yeah?" He replied, gulping. She turned her face to him, her expression somewhat full of sorrow.

"Am I scary?" Éponine asked him, her voice completely serious and anxious for the answer. Enjolras looked at her, _really_ looked at her and gave an honest reply.

"You are absolutely terrifying." He said, hoping she wouldn't remember in the morning.

Éponine looked away and smiled – such strange feelings were now in her heart, feelings that overwhelmed her; it was as though she was two people at once, two Éponines, and she was shifting between the two every other second. Cosette did always say that she shouldn't drink at all, she said that when she was drunk Éponine kept saying a bunch of stupid things that didn't make sense, things about herself and her life, memories that were not, _could_ not be true. But Cosette was wrong, the alcohol didn't devour her but it lit her up, set her on fire. She was suddenly aware. And now here she was; being drunk and seeing things as clearly as ever – she knew about him, her Enjolras, and she remembered him and his touches and kisses but he didn't, _no one_ did.

It was as if she were alone with her memories. You have no life unless you can remember it, she mused. And she remembered her life, every life she had ever worn, every kiss she had ever gotten – she remembered _him_.

She remembered the first time he let her know he loved her.

God, she remembered as if it happened only yesterday.

* * *

It was a rainy day again for a change, a rainy May day and Éponine was wandering around the streets. She still quite couldn't believe her outburst to Enjolras the other day and she felt that she needed to avoid him for a while. Her heart ached as she thought of him – was that all love had to offer? Heartache? It was a burn and a beautiful one at that, the feelings she held for Enjolras, the power he had over her. He lifted her up when she was being crushed by cruel feet and now he had the power to break her whilst she was still in the air, flying.

She loved him and she knew that and was rather certain that he himself knew that – he had to know after what had happened between the two of them the other day; she hitting him and weeping in front of Enjolras, telling him everything she felt, pouring her soul out until it felt like she was standing there naked, completely exposed to him.

Good heavens, she shouldn't have said anything, she cursed herself as she kept walking. Éponine took a turn and bumped into Marius, the person she adored for months and months – she worshipped him, really, like he was a god of some sort, condescending to her, being kind and merciful to her. And now as she looked at him Éponine realized just how foolish she was to do so; Marius was a decent person and full of caring but he was just a man, a boy, actually, and thinking of a person as more than just a person is stupid and not to be done.

It was strange as they glared at each other once again as equals, her face full of surprise and his is full of confusion. When he broke their gaze, Marius took a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to her.

"How happy I am to have found you here, 'Ponine." He declared politely; a statement that would have made her heart burst with joy before. He stopped for breath before he proceeded, almost uncertain. "This – this is for you."

"Is it a letter?" She asked, taking it in her hands. Nobody had ever sent her a letter before. Marius nodded and frowned – seemed like an unusual situation, having their roles switched; it was him delivering notes this time and not her.

"It is from Enjolras. He made me solemnly swear I would give it to no other but yourself."

"Oh?" She raised her eyebrows – how unlike Enjolras to do so. What was he telling her in writing that he didn't want to put in words?

"Yes, excellent." Marius clapped. "I must be off now, 'Ponine, that is, if I am not needed any longer?" He trailed off, glancing at her. Éponine looked up from the letter and nodded briefly.

"Very well. Farewell, mademoiselle." He bowed slightly, leaving her by herself.

Éponine eagerly tore the envelope the letter was put in, anxious to see what Enjolras had to say to her.

And not much later she was running to Café Musain, not caring that it was raining, not caring that she had the letter soaked.

Enjolras and Les Amis were having a meeting in the café; Enjolras was walking around, gesturing wildly with his hands, speaking passionately about his Patria or his revolution or whatnot – frankly, Éponine did not care at the moment; she burst in, slamming the door open, having all Les Amis' eyes on her completely soaked clothes and messy, wet hair. She didn't acknowledge any of them but ran to Enjolras at once and started hitting him angrily.

"You – idiot!" She yelled, slogging Enjolras who called out in surprise and tried to defend himself, putting his hands in front of his face. Les Amis rose as one and shared a confused look.

"Um, Chief, we will – we shall give a minute." Courfeyrac muttered uncertainly and the other nodded, turning around and leaving the café. Enjolras didn't have time to say anything in response, he was way to occupied having Éponine beat him.

"Éponine, wait-" He tried to say something but only met her angry shriek.

"What – in God's name – is the matter with you?" She demanded. "You didn't see me for days – DAYS – since I went to you – and poured my soul out for you – and what do I get?" Éponine asked, her eyes storming, picking up the note and folding it out. "A note – given to me by Marius – saying: '_Dear, Éponine. I'm in love with you. Enjolras._' Are you laughing at me? Are you mocking me, monsieur?"

She was practically raging and Enjolras was left speechless for a moment – how could she think that?

"_No!_ No, of course not, Éponine, you must know I could never-" Enjolras protested fiercely.

"Then what is the meaning of this?" Éponine cried, suddenly letting go of him. They stood there for a little while, facing each other, breathing heavily in utter silence before Enjolras let out a shaky breath.

"It came to as a sudden, lightning-like realization this morning and I knew not what to do about it. Combeferre advised me to just simply get it out of my system." He explained.

"And that was the best way you could think of?" Éponine asked him incredulously, waving the note in her hand. Enjolras gaze at her desperately.

"I was confused – I had no idea where you were and I just – I just wanted you to know and…" Enjolras trailed off, rubbing his cheeks with his hands. Éponine gaped at him.

"Huh," She sighed, "you're an idiot."

"I know." Enjolras whispered softly.

"I am rather mad at you right now."

"I know."

"I also cannot believe that you made Marius give it to me."

"I simply couldn't miss such an opportunity." Enjolras breathed with a half-smile on his face. "He was quite a tool for making you deliver his letter to his beloved and he just had to pay for it. You should have been there to see the face he made when I handed him the note. It was priceless."

"I do want to see it." Éponine replied, frowning. Then she looked at Enjolras, her eyes bright. "Have you got a pen?"

Enjolras gave her a wide smile and motioned at the desk. Éponine took a piece of paper and started to write something.

"Monsieur Marius!" She called out when she was done. "Would you please come inside?"

The door opened and Marius came in, his face as uncertain as ever. "Yes?"

"Would you mind giving this letter to Enjolras, please?"

For a really long moment Marius glared at Éponine and then at Enjolras who was standing 3 meters away from her. He then grimaced and went to Enjolras, shoving the note in his hand.

"This is from Éponine." He murmured unhappily.

Enjolras unfolded the letter, read it and then looked up at Éponine with an amused and relieved expression on his face.

_I love you as well._

* * *

The edges of Éponine's mouth curled up as she thought of that day. What a painful, burning way of dying, she mused. Remembering. She was trapped in a box of her own mind and it was a trap she wasn't even aware of, only now that she became two people she could see the box she was sitting in. She could remember and nobody else did. Not even Enjolras, not even him – but why not?

"Maybe that's why you can't remember me." She murmured softly, not sure which part of her said that exactly. "Because I frighten you."

With that, Éponine's eyes slowly closed and darkness and oblivion became her only companions.

* * *

**God, this chapter was a mess. I had no idea what was happening most of the time, I just let my instincts guide me and here we are. I'm not very thrilled with it…**


	10. Hangover Brunch

**A/N: I just want to say that I love you guys and I think that we should just be happy with our ship; let's be chill and peaceful like we used to be, there's no point losing it over haters. I feel like the whole 'Make love, not war' motto works here… : )**

Enjolras was aware of the fact that staring at someone while they were sleeping was a highly indecent and rude thing to do; he himself wouldn't have wanted somebody to see him in such a vulnerable and private state of mind but with Éponine it was hard not to look. You know how most people wonder how horses can sleep standing up, well, Enjolras was astonished by how Éponine could sleep in such an unorthodox sleeping position. She was lying on her stomach but her body was somehow twisted, her legs wrapped around the blanket he had given her, her face fallen from the pillow and was thrown back. It didn't seem very comfortable.

_Her shoulders and neck must be in constant pain if she always sleeps like this_, Enjolras though in awe, then shook himself; he had originally come in here to wake Éponine up but he had only been staring at her for minutes instead. He put down the phone he was holding and went closer to the bed she was sleeping in. He didn't actually think it was a good idea to wake her up after last night; she was so drunk that a big hangover was inevitable and hung-over people did not like when you woke them up, Grantaire taught him that. But it wasn't really up to him – Cosette called him a couple of minutes ago saying that he had better kick Éponine out of bed because she is on her way to his apartment to pick her up. She sounded really determined. Who was Enjolras to argue with that?

God, last night was a mess. Enjolras couldn't believe how confused he was over this girl who slept like a strangled animal and got drunk on one beer; she said the most curious things at the museum and he tried his best to process it – she acted incredibly affectionate toward him and such behavior had been foreign to him since his mother passed away; Éponine held his hand like they belonged together, she kissed his palm and caressed his hair and he really, _really _wanted to kiss her. And that just wasn't right, especially since according to Cosette everything Éponine did when she was drunk was to be ignored because it was sure as hell that she wouldn't do that sober.

Enjolras let out a weary sigh. Maybe he should just keep his distance from her for a while, at least until these mixed feelings he had went away. He just – he just had no idea what to do and that frustrated him greatly.

How was he going to wake her up, anyway? When it came to Grantaire Enjolras ust usually poured a glass of water all over him and say 'Wake up, moron.' But he couldn't very well do that to_ Éponine_ now, could he? Would poking her work – was touching her even an option after what happened last night?

Oh, for the love of God.

"Éponine," He murmured awkwardly as he approached her. No reaction. Maybe he wasn't loud enough? "_Éponine._"

"What?" She croaked into the pillow. She basically sounded like death. _Great_, he thought. _She's gonna be all grumpy – she might even hit me._

"It's time to wake up, 'Ponine." Enjolras tried.

"Where am I?"

"In my apartment."

"_Why?"_

"You got a bit over your head last night and you said you didn't want to go back to your dorm, so… I just had to bring you here." Enjolras was _so_ good at handling social situations.

"Ugh, I got drunk? That explains the axe in my head." She shrieked and grasped her head. Enjolras smiled. "Which idiot gave me alcohol? I'm not good with it."

"Yeah, I know."

"Did I completely weird you out? I'm sorry, I can't remember anything."

Enjolras didn't know if she should laugh or cry – she didn't remember anything; not the strange comments regarding the two of them, not the kiss she planted on his hand, not anything. And he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her.

"Well, you said some strange things." He admitted, clearing his throat. That made Éponine lift her head from the pillow in horror.

"What did I say?" She demanded.

Enjolras frowned.

"You know there's this book by John Steinbeck called _East of Eden_?" He inquired.

"Yeah?"

"Well, in said book there's a character; a woman called Cathy who is, well, the villain in the story; she was born pure evil and her goal in life to ruin everyone and she tricks people to get what she wants. Now then, her plans usually go really well until the inevitable moment when Cathy gets drunk-"

"Is there a point to this story?" Éponine groaned miserably, cutting him off. Enjolras lifted an eyebrow and glared at her.

"May I finish? So, like I said, Cathy has a bad thing with alcohol; when she drinks she can't help but tell anyone anything that's on her mind, any evil master plan she has – and by anyone I mean the person she is trying to con. And it always happens; she always drinks at some point even though she _knows what it will do to her._" Enjolras told this story with such spirit that Éponine couldn't help smiling, though the headache was killing her.

"So, what happens to this Cathy?" She asked.

"Oh, she ends marrying a man she loathes and has two children. After that she abandons them and opens a brothel." Enjolras replied casually. Éponine's eyes widened.

"What the hell does any of this has to do with me?"

"It doesn't." Enjolras grinned at her. "I was just trying to pull you out of your sleep haze."

Éponine stared at him in disbelief for a moment and then threw her pillow at him. Enjolras caught it and laughed.

"Go away." Éponine growled.

* * *

As Cosette was walking up the stairs in Enjolras' building she thought of the strangeness of the situation – she was picking Éponine up at Enjolras' place. Of all places this was the one Cosette never thought she'd be as Enjolras didn't seem like a very sociable guy, but for the past months he showed a different side of him, a side that – according to Marius – not even Les Amis knew it was there. Cosette as a woman of course noticed how the man lit up when Éponine was around but she wasn't to judge his behavior because she didn't actually know Enjolras very well – that was why she had Marius around; her boyfriend once he had learned that Cosette was rather interested in the relationship Éponine and Enjolras might have would eagerly tell her anything Cosette wanted to know about Enjolras – which, she had to admit, wasn't that much as Marius and Enjolras weren't that close and Marius – God bless his soul, she loved him – was incredibly oblivious to at least 90% of things. An absent-minded smile sneaked its way out to Cosette's face.

She could hardly believe how perfect her relationship was with Marius sometimes – she loved him and he loved her and it was simple and graceful as it should've been. If Cosette had ever had doubts, after the horrifying shit they had been through she was reassured of him. She was about to go and move in with him and have a life together on their own and that was all what Cosette had ever wanted. Marius was always there with her, for her – when Cosette occasionally still woke up at night when having nightmares, he was there, when it was 3 am and she needed Ben & Jerry's desperately, he was there.

She could only wish that Éponine might someone like that one day – and then she saw Enjolras and her friend looking at each other at that friendly gathering and she thought that he just might be the guy for 'Ponine. As she observed them from afar Cosette realized how alike they were – stubborn and caring below the shield they holding front of them, incredibly smart and they were both passionate about books.

Those two were spending a lot of time together and Cosette knew that they wouldn't just figure things out on their own – they needed the help of a professional; that was why she shared her intuition with Musichetta who was almost over-eager to participate.

Enjolras and Éponine would be sucking faces as soon as possible if it was up to Cosette.

Huh.

Yes, this might have sounded childish but Cosette only wanted, desperately _needed_ to see her best friend happy for once, happy with someone rather than just herself. She recalled how for a time 'Ponine thought Montparnasse was going to be that someone but instead of holding her he only broke her and crushed her, and Éponine had to bite her way out to escape from him – from them; her so-called family who did nothing but hurt Éponine as long as Cosette could remember.

Cosette shook her head slightly and reached for the spare key to Enjolras' apartment she had stolen from Marius – boys and their keys. What if she was to rob his place? She turned the key and opened his door, walking into his apartment quietly.

The place was neat and organized, Cosette acknowledged – or not so much, she added as she glanced into one of the rooms to find Enjolras' bedroom full of papers and books thrown on the bed, on the desk on the floor. So he was only not messy when it came to things he didn't generally care about - just like Éponine when it came to the things she loved.

She heard talking and laughing coming from the kitchen and as she turned Cosette could see them sitting together at his table, Éponine leaning into her hand (she was probably very hung-over) and laughing at something Enjolras said.

_He never says jokes_, Marius's earlier statement popped into Cosette's head. _He hates laughing and generally everything that doesn't concern his cause and you know, frowning._

Cosette almost wished she had a camera with her so she could take a photo of the pair and show it to Les Amis – their faces would fall.

Enjolras and Éponine hadn't noticed her yet though.

"Ugh, I feel like death." Éponine murmured to her palm and Enjolras chuckled – _chuckled._

"I'm sure Cosette will take care of that." He said. "What is a 'hangover brunch' exactly?

"It's a thing we have," She explained and it made Cosette smile. "Whenever I get drunk, which, by the way, have only happened to me twice before, Cosette takes me out the next day for breakfast, or brunch, as she likes to call it but we usually just have fries."

"I suppose it would do you good after last night." Enjolras mused. He rubbed his chin. "You really don't remember anything?"

"Naah. Nothing after looking at the paintings, it's just a huge, smoky blur." Éponine frowned. "But really, did I say something stupid?"

"Well, you may or may not have said that you had figured out my first name, you said it was Rumpelstiltskin-"

To that Éponine burst out laughing uncontrollably, it was a sweet sound to hear. Enjolras smirked.

"And then you did that." He added.

"I'm a fucking genius." She whispers weakly and then looks up to him. "But really, I must've said some weird shit – Cosette always said so."

"Again, you did say some things, but they weren't… stupid at all." _Intriguing, confusing and terrifying, yes. Stupid? Not in the slightest._

"I wish you were like that when we are with the guys." Éponine blurted out with a blush. Enjolras grimaced.

"What do you mean? What am I like?"

She shrugged.

"Nice. You're a genuinely kind person and you can loosen up a bit and you make a good conversation and – God forbid – sometimes you even smile. Shocker!" Éponine said, half-teasingly, half-seriously, but completely flustered nonetheless. "But you sometimes actually act like a human being and other times you turn into this – this marble statue."

Enjolras looked at her helplessly.

"'Ponine-"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry. I just want others to see you the way I see you." Her reply made Enjolras' mind explode with questions.

_How do you see me, Éponine? Are we just friends? Am I like a brother to you – and what about the way you acted last night? Is _that_ how you actually see me? The words you said, the way you looked at me, was that – what _was_ that?_ And most importantly, _how do I see you?_

Cosette felt like this was the appropriate moment for her to step in. She cleared her throat and the pair looked at her.

"Cosette!" Éponine smiled and got up immediately. "I'll go get my stuff."

She stormed off rather quickly and both Enjolras and Cosette stared after her. Then their eyes met and Enjolras gave Cosette a half-smile.

"Hello, Cosette." He murmured.

"Hi." She smiled.

"How are you?" He inquired and Cosette was a bit surprised – he seemed actually curious and Enjolras wasn't normally interested in people's affairs. Was it how he always was with Éponine, she mused.

"I am much better, thank you." She decided not to overwhelm him with a long and detailed answer. "Things are going" She couldn't very well say _back to normal_ as that wouldn't be true but, "well."

This time she got an actual smile.

"I'm glad." He nodded and Cosette made an incredulous face as she returned his smile – Enjolras was definitely a keeper.

They locked eyes for a moment before Éponine came running back with her bag in one hand and an aspirin in the other.

"I'm ready." She announced solemnly the obvious. Cosette nodded and looked at her phone to check the time. "Great. Let's get going. Enjolras."

"Cosette." He nodded as the two girls made their way out of his apartment. At the door Éponine turned to him, her face tired, bags under her eyes but she was smiling.

"Later." She said to him simply.

"Later." He echoed in a whisper and Cosette gave him a knowing look. Then he remembered something. "Cosette, how did you get in?"

"Oh, Enjolras." She sighed. "This place is practically as protected as a dog house. Also, I just stole the key you so recklessly gave Marius."

* * *

Once they were down on the street Cosette started walking in a really fast pace and Éponine had to run if she wanted to keep up with her.

"Why are you rushing?" She asked Cosette, confused.

"The place we're having brunch at closes early."

"Wait, we're having actual brunch?" Éponine asked, a bit shocked. "But we always go to Burger King."

"And that changes today." Cosette stated. "Because a nice little brunch place is the setting we would be eating at if we were in a romantic comedy and I were to ask you to tell me everything that happened between Enjolras and you last night."


	11. Simple

**A/N: I ****hate**** typing mistakes – I proof-read the previous chapter at least 3 times and yet I still found a lot of mistakes after posting it, I'm sorry, just try to make sense of my vague babbling. So, this is the eleventh chapter – 11 chapters, guys, can you believe it? And we are **_**nowhere near**_** the end…**

Watching Éponine walk away with Cosette Enjolras felt his heart race and his vision go funny, he felt dizzy for a second and he had to grasp the door-jamb so he wouldn't collapse – he had to sit down now. Shaking his head, Enjolras went inside, slamming the door shut behind him. He shakily ran his fingers through his hair and sat on the ground, leaning against the door; he was feeling light and heavy at the same time, as though he was floating above the ground, ready to fall any minute. Enjolras had never, ever felt that way before and he was frightened by it – and to make matters worse, what was worst was that he deep inside he knew exactly who was making him feel this way – Éponine, who else.

Everything about her was just so unexpected – her brown, wavy hair framing her face, the brightness in her eyes, her dimples and her laughter – and the shiver the sound of it sent down his spine; it was all just so out of the blue, and Enjolras did not know what to about it. The tingling in his stomach and on the back of his neck just wouldn't stop and Enjolras decided that he didn't like this feeling – he just didn't understand it.

Why was she making her feel this way; what was it about Éponine that broke him completely, and first of all, why did she feel so familiar to him? He just wanted to scream in despair. The images and sounds he held of her were exploding in his head every time she was present and Enjolras felt like he was going crazy.

He glanced at his desk and the papers abandoned on it. Papers. Abandoned. These were two words that were hardly ever combined when it came to Enjolras; he wasn't one to procrastinate studying and he realized that he was drifting away from who he was before he met Éponine. Enjolras was astonished to find that seeing her at Marius' place a few months back was quite life-changing – he was beginning to see a whole new side of himself when he was around Éponine. A side so unlike the rest of him that Enjolras sometimes felt like a stranger in his own body; with Éponine it was easy and it ward hard and it was clear and it was confusing and all he knew was that she was the only thing in this world that felt familiar.

Enjolras didn't understand her and he sure as hell didn't understand himself – why was he like this with her? Could it be that – could it be that he felt something for Éponine…? No, surely not. That would be nonsense. Nope.

He needed to find the person he was _before_ Éponine and he needed to do it quickly before things got out of hand – maybe some distance would do both of them good. Because who was he kidding? He was Enjolras, the chief, the always serious Enjolras, and even his friends called him the marble statue – he was dedicated and he was stern, always uncomfortable in social situations. He had never felt the need to be around people unless it came to important matters but it was different now; he almost yearned to be around Éponine, he wished to see her as often as possible and that scared him – she was clearly changing him in a way that made Enjolras feel insecure in his skin. Why, he wasn't the person he had been a few months back and that would not do – he didn't want to change, he didn't her to change him. It wasn't right to have such power over somebody. It just wasn't.

As hard as it was going to be, he needed to get his old self back. He had to spend some time on his own once again, without her. Without anyone.

He rubbed his face and slowly rose from the floor, walking to his desk to gather some of his stuff – he was going to find himself and where else was he going to do that but the library?

* * *

Éponine was quite stunned, to be honest. She didn't expect Cosette to be so up-front about suspecting that there was something going on between Enjolras and her; she was aware of how Musichetta was convinced that the two of them were a thing or should be one but she didn't know Cosette would bring it up like this. Especially during their hangover brunch.

"There's – there is nothing, I mean, nothing happened." She stuttered in response and Cosette gave her a look.

"But didn't you just say that you can't remember anything?"

"Well… yeah." Éponine admitted with a shrug. The part of her brain that should've had the memories of the previous night were foggy and her head ached when she tried to remember anything. "But Enjolras didn't drink anything – he never does, he's sobriety himself. He would tell me if something had happened."

"Would he now?" Cosette somehow wasn't so sure. "Just think about it this way; if something did happen between the two of you than I bet he would be terrified. And he probably wouldn't have the guts to tell you – about any of it. Come on, Éponine, he's the Marble Statue – haven't you been paying attention? Enjolras didn't get that nickname without a reason. You know that I met him before you did and of course that doesn't mean that I know him any better than you do but he obviously likes you – I can tell! He just, he sort of lights up around you and smiles and loosens up. It's like he's an entirely different person; he used to be so stern and serious all the time and he's just so different now-"

"Cosette, stop!" Éponine hissed, turning redder every second. "It's not even like that, he wouldn't-"

"But you would." Cosette interrupted her with her non-question. Éponine struggled for air.

"NO – what. No. I don't – that's not, ugh." Éponine just couldn't make the words out; she sighed and tapped on the table in frustration. Cosette frowned. "Whatever."

"Look, I know you haven't been with anyone since Montparnasse and you did tell me that you don't feel ready to date again," Cosette said softly, saying Éponine's ex-boyfriend's name with great care. "But I'm sure it would be different with Enjolras; you guys obviously fancy each other, and… Well, I get that you're scared of getting hurt but I really think that you should just go for it."

"What?" Éponine snorted. "Why are you so invested in this?"

"Because I want you to be happy, 'Ponine." Cosette replied with a bit of harshness in her always gentle voice. "And I want you to realize that it isn't always drama and sorrow, it can be simple-"

"Can it?" Éponine grimaced, she was obviously getting upset. She gulped and rubbed her temple, her voice somewhat desperate when she spoke. "God, my head is killing me. Can it really be simple, Cosette – my sweet, darling Cosette, my dearest friend – is it really simple?

Cosette stared at her and thought of all the things she had with Marius – the kisses and the gazes and the understanding and the late night movies and the cuddling. That part was simple but that wasn't all to it – there was so much more to their relationship, to their life; the nightmares that kept her up and the crying and hugging in the hospital, the silent fear that she might never have a child. _Simple,_ oh, Lord, it was anything but.

"No." She breathed out at last and Éponine leaned back, a smile of relief on her face. She didn't like to be wrong. "So it might be all that simple and easy but it _is_ great. And I want you to have that, Éponine, okay? And I know that we are different people and that you have always been this deep, sophisticated person and I can only speak for myself when I say this but I've always thought that being loved was the point of life. That's what I've always wanted – to love and be loved. I realize that's cheesy and overused and not a good enough goal but-"

Éponine stared. "And you don't think that's what _I want_? Cosette, that's what everybody wants in life, I'm just not strong enough to put myself out there like you do and I hide behind all this pretentious bullshit."

Cosette made an incredulous face and took Éponine's hand in hers. "Éponine, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend or upset you, I'm just – I'm just trying to understand you, that's all."

Éponine sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, too. It's just – it's been a crazy few months and this hangover isn't really helping." She joked, shaking her head.

Cosette leaned back in her chair and observed her friend's face warily. "I wish you could open up to me more often."

"I do open up to you." Éponine protested.

"Not like this." Cosette replied, narrowing her eyes a bit. "And I'm afraid it will go away in a second so quick, answer me this: you're into him, right?"

Éponine let out another sigh and shook her head – she couldn't say it as she didn't know quite what to say. "I'm not into him, okay? It's more complicated than that."

"Told you that you would close up in a second." Cosette whispered in disappointment. "Alright, don't tell me if you don't want to."

"It's not that, Cosette, I do want to tell you, I really do." Éponine assured her friend quickly. "It's just there are no words for it – like literally no words to express myself. I don't know what to do and this time it's not about Montparnasse or my parents or any of that. And it's really scary."

Cosette eyed her silently and then nodded. "Okay. But you know that I'm always here, right?"

"Yeah. I've been trying to get rid of you." Éponine glanced at her with tears in her eyes.

* * *

Enjolras cursed himself internally as he walked in Café Musain – he couldn't believe that the library was closed at that time. How did he ever forget about that? Something was seriously wrong with him, he thought.

He had to find other ways to distract himself and that was why he came to the café – it had a nice, calming silence had a great effect on him, he found that he could think more clearly when he was in Café Musain.

He walked up to his usual spot with a book – which he had to bring with him from home, since the library was very much closed -, a book by no other than Charles Dickens himself. As he started reading it occurred to him that it might have been a bad idea to pick this book, by this author – the author he knew Éponine adored. He just wanted to hit himself with the book once he realized that he subconsciously chose a book that immediately reminded him of her to distract himself with. He was in idiot.

But he couldn't help reading on since the words of Dickens were captivating; they were made out of wisdom and dark humor and something about the atmosphere of it all really reminded Enjolras of Éponine.

_I shouldn't be doing any of this_, he told himself as his mind wandered to Éponine. She was his friend but he didn't want to be her friend; he somehow wanted to hate her and to completely distance himself from her because it was all just so confusing.

Enjolras shook his head slightly and turned his attention back to his book, forcing himself not to think of anything else. It was working until a significant someone decided to break him out of the world of the novel.

"Hey, Chief." Courfeyrac greeted him cheerfully, sitting down next to Enjolras and patting him on the back. Enjolras frowned. "How was your big date with Éponine?"

Clearly he didn't come to the right place to take his mind off Éponine.

"It wasn't a date." He declared, gritting his teeth before turning back to his book. Courfeyrac merely laughed at him.

"Right, whatever you say, man." Courfeyrac pouted, thinking. "Éponine is kind of hot, right?"

"She and I are just friends."

"That's not what I asked."

"And I chose to ignore your question." Enjolras snapped, turning slightly red.

"Uh-huh." Courfeyrac murmured, winking at Enjolras. "I think you and I both know-"

"You finally learned how to wink!" Enjolras cut him off, seemingly amazed. Courfeyrac grinned.

"I know right? Barely took me 20 years. But that's not the point." He said, pointing at his friend. "The point is that I think we both know that there is no such thing as friendship between a woman and a man."

"If you didn't try to pull your gender-bias, misogynist talk on me, I would very much appreciate it." Enjolras deadpanned. He really didn't need Courf's bullshit right now. He really didn't need anyone mentioning Éponine right now.

"Come on, Chief, I'm none of those things." Courf shrugged it off light-heartedly. "It's just that it's achingly obvious that you have the hots for her."

"I don't think I even have hots to begin with." Enjolras replied; this deadpan tone seemed to be working for him.

"God, you're difficult." Courfeyrac sighed, looking around the café briefly. "Look, here's the deal. There's this really fine redhead checking you out at 11 o'clock, don't look! – and she's also the girl I've been trying to get things with but for some unknown reason she wouldn't have me so I did a little investigation…"

"Why am I even listening to you?" Enjolras murmured under his breath, but deep down he was actually somewhat grateful that because of Courfeyrac's babbling he didn't have to think of Éponine.

"Because you're a good friend. Well, not really, but sometimes. It happens." Courf shrugged. "So, I dug a little and turns out that this girl really likes to take care of others so if I were to be punched in the face then she would feel sorry for me and turn into Florence Nightingale."

"Are you saying the outrageous thing I think you're saying…?" Enjolras frowned in disbelief.

"Punch me in the face!" Courfeyrac whined and Enjolras didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"What?" He snorted.

"Come on, man, you know you want to!" His friend urged him, jumping up and down a little bit.

Enjolras couldn't disagree with that.

"Let me get this straight; you want me to punch you in the face so some girl will notice you and agree to go out with you?"

"Well… yeah. Come on, Enj, just do this for me and I'll never ask for anything ever again. She might be the one for me!" Courfeyrac stated dramatically.

"You just want to get laid." Enjolras rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Well, all the more reason for you to hit me – I'm a douchebag and we both know it; I show up late to our meetings and sometimes even bring _distractions_ with me, I make stupid jokes and I keep bugging you about Éponine. And you really, really want to hit me, Enjolras, and here's your chance. Take it." Enjolras was horrified to realize that Courfeyrac was actually making sense, or so it seemed to him. He was clearly considering Courf's offer.

"So, if I punch you, can I – I don't know, hurt you?" He raised an eyebrow. Courfeyrac nodded enthusiastically.

"Sure, whatever you want, just make it look real." Courfeyrac was overly excited now and it just wasn't right.

"You have to promise me something though." Enjolras said. "Don't bug me about Éponine. Ever again."

"Sure, okay." Courfeyrac couldn't quite finish that sentence for he got violently hit by Enjolras, who gave him his best right hook. Courf almost fell over in surprise and he cried out a bit in pain. The redhead that was already mentioned above rose from her seat, shrieking a bit. She ran to Courfeyrac.

"Are you okay?" Courfeyrac nodded weakly and Enjolras really couldn't help rolling his eyes now. He left the café feeling everyone's accusing glare behind him.

Out on the street he was walking in haste, not hearing someone call out his name until they reached him, patting his shoulder. It was Jehan.

"Enjolras, hey – did you just hit Courfeyrac?" Jehan's face was full of disbelief and surprise.

"He was asking for it." He replied, holding out his hands so as to defend himself. Jehan made a face and Enjolras realized that this sentence still didn't explain anything. He sighed. "I mean, he was literally asking me to hit him so he could get it with some girl."

"And you helped him?"

"Turns out I'm weak willed."

"Right." Jehan nodded, then his face lit up. "Oh, how was your night out with Éponine? I think it's great you guys went together – it inspired me so much I actually wrote a poem about the two of you."

"Oh, God." Enjolras grumbled, turning his gaze to the skies. This really wasn't his day. "It was okay, Jehan – by the way, have you seen Grantaire recently?"

Enjolras was genuinely worried for his friend, especially not having seen him for the last few days. He was also eager to change the topic.

"Well, not for a while, no." Jehan bit his lip, deep in thought. "But Combeferre did say that Grantaire was having a rough time and that he's staying home for now. Joly thinks he might be sick."

That wasn't much help, really – that was what Joly thought about every soul around him. It was time Enjolras visited his friend.

* * *

The door was open and the TV was loud when Enjolras got to Grantaire's apartment – the apartment that his friend barely ever used these days, actually Enjolras wasn't sure whether Grantaire knew the place existed in the first place. But clearly, he was making use of it now – in the only way he knew it was possible; leaving his stuff thrown around the floor and a line of empty whisky bottles that led to the living room. Grantaire himself was sitting on the couch wrapped in a raggedy blanket, staring at the television with a face that showed no emotion whatsoever. He took no notice of Enjolras.

"Glad to see you're your usual self." Enjolras deadpanned and the tone made Grantaire look up to him with a tired and affectionate smile on his face – a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Oh, you know me, Enjolras; always on top of the fucking world." He put his arms out in a 'I-can't-help-it' kind of way. "I already thought my life was awesome an hour ago and then _Cruel Intentions_ came on and now it's complete."

"What's _Cruel Intentions_?" Enjolras inquired.

"Three words, Apollo – Ryan Phillippe, Reese Witherspoon and Sarah Michelle Gellar."

"I have no idea who any of those people are." Enjolras admitted. "And I'm pretty sure that wasn't three words."

"Whatever." Grantaire shrugged and yawned. "And what have you been up to, Marble Man? I imagine mostly brooding and discovering this whole new side of you."

Enjolras glared at him. "What do you mean?"

An evil and lazy smirk curved Grantaire's lips. "Nothing. I don't ever _mean_ anything, do I?"

"I've been thinking about the cause – I think that we should keep the rallies down until we figure out what exactly it is that we are fighting for." Enjolras said, ignoring Grantaire's response. "I'm making a list of all the things that are handled badly in today's society – for instance, did you know that some places women get paid at least 2 euros less just because they are women? And that for them birth control is very expensive whilst men can get it for free-"

"I don't really care about birth control, Enjolras." Grantaire interrupted him angrily and impatiently.

Enjolras sighed. "What _do you_ care about?"

"Nothing, apparently." Grantaire replied, raising his voice a tiny bit. That really got on Enjolras' nerves.

"Of course not, you're just sitting here, staring at the TV without a purpose or anything to give the world. You just make these sarcastic comments but you could do so much more; but no – you are incapable of belief, of thought, of will, of life and of death."

Grantaire looked down and breathed. "Just you wait and see."

Enjolras was suddenly fuming; he had had enough of it, of all of this – nothing seemed to be working out as it was supposed to and he just couldn't handle any of it, not now. He turned around to leave but stopped in the doorway.

"Don't forget about bathroom breaks." He said and stormed out hastily.

On his way out Enjolras decided a lot of things – he would forget everything else and focus only on their cause, because that was the smart thing, the right thing to do and he was known as the person who would do what was reasonable and right. He wasn't going to let anyone distract him from doing something good for the world and that was the end of it.

He was really determined until his phone rang.

"Hello?"

"'Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts.'"

"That's Dickens." Enjolras said immediately, feeling his heart beat faster at the sound of her voice.

Éponine giggled. "I like Dickens."

"I know you do." He breathed and then cleared his throat. Before he could say anything else, Éponine had already started a monologue herself.

"Look, I just wanted to say thanks for putting up with my weird shit today – and, well, in general. I'm glad that we're-"

_Friends_, Éponine wanted to say, but somehow couldn't say it. _Or I don't know what we are, really. I'm just glad you're here and I'm here – that's what I've always wanted, to have you in my life even when I thought you weren't real. And there are so much strange stuff going on that scares the living hell out of me but you are something familiar. And that helps a lot. I just want you to know that – that I'm afraid but it's a good kind of fear._

"I'm just glad." She blurted out in the end, her face red and she was happy he couldn't see her right then.

"Yes." Enjolras felt a strange, painful stroking around his heart as he answered in a whisper. "Me, too."


	12. Why Can't We Break Free

**A/N: Not uploading earlier is due to the fact that the lovely people on **_**tumblr**_** kept stabbing me with their amazing writing. I hate the fic war sometimes. Here's chapter 12 for you, **_**kedveseim**_** : ) Oops, my Hungarian is showing.**

**Also, sorry about the type-os. **

It was three in the morning and Enjolras still couldn't find a way to fall asleep; he was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, going over his paper once again, eyeing each word with great care, knowing that if he didn't have his studies to think about then something – or rather someone – unwelcomed would surely occupy his mind.

God, he was doing it again, wasn't he; thinking about her, always and only her, Éponine, the girl who was so different from anything he had known and yet she was the only thing that felt familiar to him. Enjolras couldn't help but wonder what it was that made Éponine burst into his life like a thunder, lighting his world up and completely messing it up.

Of course, he had an answer, but he preferred to push that down for it only made him ask more question. Éponine was the girl Enjolras had been dreaming about all his life, the girl he never thought was real until he actually met her. Good heavens, some days he still had to pinch himself to check that Éponine was in fact a real person and not just a figment of his imagination – because whatever Grantaire thought, Enjolras was no god, there was no way in hell he could possibly make up someone as wonderful as Éponine.

No, Éponine Thénardier was a real person, that much was certain – she was so, so real that Enjolras had these amazingly lifelike images of her in his mind. Memories; that was what he involuntarily named them, even though he was pretty sure they never happened.

No, he had surely never seen Éponine running to him on the street, her hair and torn clothing soaked with rain, and such lively expression on her face that made Enjolras' heart flutter with joy and an urge to reach out and embrace her…

But it wasn't just the captivating memories that drove Enjolras closer and closer to Éponine, they weren't the only reason that he was so attached to her, no, it was much more, much scarier than that. He often found himself wishing to bathe in her dimpled smiles, in the light of her mahogany brown eyes, he wanted to be close to her and listen to her breathing, look at her frown when deep in thought, listen to her speak and talk to her about anything, the books they both read, the art they both liked the air they both breathed. It was terrifying just how much Enjolras wanted to be close to her.

And _we're just friends,_ he would say to Courfeyrac or Combeferre or Grantaire or a grinning Musichetta but honestly, he wasn't so sure what friendship was anymore. He had been fairly certain that Les Amis were his friends; Combeferre was his friend, Grantaire was his friend, Marius was an idiot but still he could be considered a friend – but what was Éponine, then? Was there a word for what she was to him? Enjolras found that hard to believe.

But what was he doing again? Right. His history paper – something was off about it but Enjolras couldn't figure out what he did wrong.

Even Éponine knew it wasn't right when he had showed it to her a couple of days back; she read it with great care, her eyes narrowed and her lips pursued in concentration.

"You're missing the spark." She said with a shrug in the end, not knowing what else to add. "You should dig yourself deeper, I guess."

"What do you mean?" He asked, frowning. Éponine locked eyes with him for a moment and a smile was dancing around her lips as she composed an answer.

"Well," She said, licking her lips. "Think about it this way; every assignment and paper you have write proposes a hidden question, one that you have to answer – sometimes you have to look hard to find the question but it's there. And you, my friend, are not answering the question."

There was a slight pause before he replied.

"I'm not?"

Éponine shook her head.

So Enjolras wasn't answering the question – but what could it be? He read the given-out title once again; _Why can't we break free – Failed attempts of fighting for freedom in the 18__th__ and 19__th__ century._

And then, suddenly, Enjolras just _knew_ – Éponine's former words echoed in his head.

_You're missing the spark…_

_Those people needed more than just nicely put speeches and empty promises…_

_Robespierre was practically a mass murderer. He created a terror after the French Revolution…_

And in that moment, he could swear he was the dumbest person the world had ever carried on its surface.

oOo

"I'm having a hard time breathing.' Éponine announced, shaking her head, as she closed the front door behind her. Grantaire merely snorted, not even trying to move from the couch.

"Yeah, well, I'm having a hard time being." His voice was dark and lacked any sense of humor. Éponine walked to the living room and stopped in the doorway, looking around – the apartment was a mess; she was aware that Grantaire was an artist with a liberal soul and a skeptical sense of humor and a breath that always stank of vodka but this was way out of line even for him. The place looked like it had been run down by the Huns, leaving nothing but useless trash behind – Éponine wasn't sure whether the floor was still there for she couldn't see it.

"I'm sorry I missed the apocalypse."

"Is it really that bad?" Grantaire asked, his eyes fixated on the TV screen. "I haven't noticed."

"Well, you know how you throw your jacket on a chair at the end of the day?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, it's like that, only that instead of a chair it's a pile of garbage. And instead of a jacket it's a pile of garbage. And instead of the end of the day it's the end of time, and garbage is all that has survived." Éponine announced, quite proud of the simile she used. Grantaire snorted and finally broke his gaze from the television to look at Éponine. He looked worn out, his face was tired and he clearly hadn't shaved for a couple of days now. There were dark circles under his eyes.

"Hi." He whispered, his voice now somewhat gentle. Éponine gave him a small smile.

"Hi." She made her way to the couch and waved to Grantaire to move a little bit so she could sit. Leaning against the pillows she let out a little sigh and petted Grantaire's dark hair fondly. "So, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." He grinned. "I'm grand."

"Oh, shut up, you." Éponine scolded him softly. Grantaire was quite the riddle for her when they first met but since then Éponine cracked her way through the jokes and the alcohol and she liked the person Grantaire was under them. She knew him now and she was a friend to him, so unlike with what she had with Enjolras – there were no question marks in her relationship with Grantaire, they were just friends, so definitely and without a doubt that it warmed her heart. "You're a bad liar. And anyways, as an admirer of art, this depressed and given-up-on-the-world thing is quite the look for you, if I might add."

"You're funny, Thénardier." Grantaire rolled his eyes. "Who would've thought?"

"So you're not gonna tell me what's wrong, then?"

"Oh, I'll tell you what's wrong – what's wrong is there are millions of skinny African children starving and dying in this very moment and I'm not doing anything about it. What's wrong is people are sick and unhappy and alone and I'm there to help them. What's wrong is Barbra Streisand is giving a farewell concert again and I'm not there to stop it. What's wrong is I know all of that stuff is happening and it's bad it is and I don't _care_, Éponine. I can't bring myself to care."

Éponine lay back and put her legs in Grantaire's lap, trying to process her friend's monologue.

"So Enjolras paid you a visit." She murmured and Grantaire laughed, tilting his head back, sounding very cheerful and Éponine was genuinely concerned for him. He was one of Les Amis that she hit it off well from the beginning and they have grown rather close to each other, the way Éponine only has with Cosette, but it was different. She soon learned that Grantaire was a lost little boy with a scary darkness inside of him that he – as he himself told her – wished to drown with alcohol and cigarettes.

She also found that he was a magnificent artist; he would paint anything so beautifully. The sky, trees, leftover he found lying around, teddy bears and power outlets and streetlamps and light itself but never people, and when Éponine asked why he wouldn't do portraits he shrugged. _Portraits are lies, 'Ponine_, he said. _They repel me; and I don't think I understand people enough to paint them and they don't trust me enough to let me not to make a joke out of them._

Still, she loved watching him paint, there was something mesmerizing about the way he held his brush and gave each color a brighter shade just by using it, choosing it. Creating something as beautiful as a painting must have been a glorious thing to, that was as much as Éponine could read off Grantaire's face when he was working; he was so fixated on the blank canvas before him, was furrowing his eyebrows and his breathing got heavy at times.

"Oh why yes, you smart girl, he did pay me a visit." Grantaire replied, still chuckling. "He came up here, looked at me observingly and gave me a lecture about the side effects of not giving a shit. He basically said I was useless, only took up space and I didn't care about any important things. So you know, the usual…" He mused.

Éponine sighed sympathetically and squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry, Grantaire. I know that you're – fond of him."

"Yeah, I guess, whatever." He chuckled but the sound was dry and empty. Éponine gave him a desperate look, trying to say many things but not managing.

"He's difficult." She blurted out at last, her voice uneven.

"Tell me about it."

"No, I mean he's not exactly easy to handle." Éponine continued. "But I'm sure that he cares about you a lot – you guys have been friends for the longest time and that means something."

"Does it?" Grantaire arched his eyebrows. "You know I hate that quality of human beings when they force everything to possess a meaning."

"Uh, but I know that he loves you very much!" Éponine said, her voice not lacking sharpness. "And what is this shit about you not caring? You cannot possibly think that any sane person would buy that – I don't buy it, even Enjolras doesn't buy it and it's because you _do care_ Grantaire. You care a great deal and that's why you're the way you are now, otherwise you wouldn't even think twice about your actions or you place in the world."

A brief silence followed her words; Grantaire was eyeing Éponine almost affectionately and when he spoke, his voice had the same mocking tone he always used.

"You know a lot for a tiny little girl who swears a lot."

"I read a lot, too."

"Yeah, I know, it's really annoying." Grantaire said and Éponine smacked him.

"Shut up."

They sat there in silence for a short while before Grantaire finally got up – it had been days, really – and stretched a little. He looked down on Éponine lying on the couch and rolled his eyes.

"So, I might be experiencing an emotion."

"No shit, Sherlock." Éponine teased and sat up, yawning. "So, when did this happen?"

"What?" Grantaire frowned.

"When was Enjolras here?"

"Oh." Grantaire said, licking his lower lip. "The other day – or was it last week? I swear, after the first two seasons of Supernatural things just started to blur."

"Right."

"But why do you ask?" Grantaire inquired, putting on a shirt he picked up from the floor. "I would've imagined he told you about his visit considering you spend every waking minute in each other's company."

Éponine blushed. "Not _every_ waking minute."

"Oh, please – it's disgusting what the two of you are doing, really. You're worse than a married couple."

"We're just friends." Éponine protested but Grantaire didn't seem to buy any of it.

"Clearly, you have a problem of defining things, because _this_ – what _we_ are, 'Ponine – is what friendship is. What's between you and Cosette is what friendship is – you and Apollo biting at each other is something else entirely." Grantaire told her a bit angrily, rubbing his cheeks.

"We are so not biting at each other – actually, we are not even seeing any of each other because he's currently avoiding me." Éponine replied, fuming.

"What?"

"Ah, you know; not answering my calls, always super-busy when I want to talk to him, always in a hurry when I run into him on the street or on campus. So basically, dodging me."

"Why would he do that?" Grantaire mused, a bit shocked to hear that – Enjolras appeared to be completely smitten by Éponine even though he didn't even realize it himself. His friend seemed to be rather devoted to 'Ponine and even though it was nice to see that the Marble Man was capable of caring so much for another person, for reasons unexplained, Grantaire still felt a strange twitch in his stomach when he saw the two of them together.

"I wish I knew." Éponine whispered. "But the problem is that I don't understand him."

Grantaire snorted. "Enjolras doesn't want to be understood – he wants to be the one to understand everything and everybody, it makes him feel important and almighty."

Éponine glared at him, her expression dead serious now. "_Every_ soul wants to be understood."

"Not him." Grantaire shook his head. "He's way too scared."

oOo

'_Il n'est pas nécessaire de vivre.  
Il est nécessaire de naviguer.'_

Enjolras had never been so fascinated by the marvel that was the internet before. He was reading about the changes throughout the Enlightenment and the series of revolutions in Europe at the time and he was simply taken aback of the new things he discovered. He was looking at the whole deal through different eyes and that made him realize something important – the fault wasn't in the people but in the leadership.

'_A tempest ceases, a cyclone passes over, a wind dies down, a broken mast can be replaced, a leak can be stopped, a fire extinguished, but what will become of this enormous brute of bronze?'_

And the lack of luck, of course – strange it was how much luck and fortune meant in things like rebellions and changes of governments, Enjolras mused, flipping the pages of his books, scrolling through various websites, his mind finally not wandering around Éponine but flying instead, as thought it had been liberated from all worries and sorrows only to concentrate on one thing: revolution.

'_The consequences of things are not always proportionate to the apparent magnitude of those events that have produced them. Thus the American Revolution, from which little was expected, produced much; but the French Revolution, from which much was expected, produced little.'_

Justice and freedom and independence were what Enjolras had always fought for; that was why he held protests and wrote speeches and did research in basically everything. That was why he took school and his studies so seriously – he wanted to leave his mark on this world, he wanted to do something good, something worth doing.

'_The French revolution taught us the rights of man.'_

It all seemed so clear now, everything that Enjolras did had been leading up to this moment of recognition, this consciousness he had now: he was going to start a revolution, or a rebellion, at least, he was going to show the leaders of the country just how loud the people could be. Just how right they could be.

_Why can't we break free_, he mused, rubbing his eyes sleepily. What an odd title to give out to the students, it sounded like a song and still – it was an interesting question to propose. So many times had people tried to take control over their lives, to get what was theirs by right: their freedom and yet they were pushed down, buried in the ground so that not to make a sound. Were the conquerors, the leaders much stronger than the simple people? Surely not – but then, why was that they could barely succeed?

Why couldn't they break free?

"God didn't want them to." The reply came but not from Enjolras himself or any other person in his apartment, no, a shadow spoke to him from his mind, a shadow that might have been Éponine once.

She was sitting on the floor in the upstairs room of Café Musain, her voice an almost inaudible whisper. Enjolras frowned at her statement – Éponine, the young woman he barely knew had just lectured him about his impossible and illogical ways and told him that his idealist thinking wasn't getting him anywhere and now here she was, collapsing to the ground, talking about God. Enjolras was never a man of religion, the subject of heavens and the Almighty was foreign to him.

He moved rather uncomfortably and sat down next to Éponine.

"I do not know what God is, mademoiselle."

Éponine glanced at him, a strange burning in her eyes.

"God is- God is when you give your last sou to a stranger who needs it more. God is when you do justice, when you cry and when you laugh, God is when you create and when you kill, when you kiss and when you crush. God is when you speak and when you are silent." Éponine's head went fuzzy and she could hear a ringing in her ears, her heart racing in her chest as she spoke of such holy things. "To love another person is to see the face of God."

Enjolras stared at her in awe. He felt that at that very moment all of the skies were falling on him – and Éponine was the one who made that happen. Never in his life he had someone to speak to him in such a way, and the things she said – he was stunned and left speechless. She was right about every single thing – he was leading his friends into a battle already lost, that is, if he didn't win the people over. He looked at his notes on the table – empty words, he realized and impulsively crumpled his pieces of paper into balls as to drop them on the ground. Enjolras looked at Éponine. She was standing in front of him, covering her face with her hands, looking exhausted.

"Forgive me, Monsieur Enjolras," She blurted out unsteadily, "it was never my place to say such things, I beg your most sincere pardon."

With that she turned around to storm out but Enjolras grabbed her by the arm to stop her. Éponine turned back around to see the desperate expression in his eyes.

"Please stay," he breathed, "help me, Éponine. Please."

And so she did. That was the first time Enjolras truly saw Éponine Thénardier – she was no longer a faint shadow of Marius or a dirty little street urchin. No, she was now a woman of almost incredibly intelligence and practicality, a person who paid attention to his speeches at the meetings and shared her thoughts of them with Enjolras – they would often spend hours discussing his ideas and plans; Éponine helped Enjolras understand the things he had not understood before and he was taken aback by how marvelous this woman was.

That was the first time Enjolras ever asked anything from another – and Éponine did not reject him. She stayed with him - until the end.

Enjolras' head jerked up suddenly; he didn't realize that he had fallen asleep, that he was dreaming – and what a dream it was, consuming him and intriguing him completely, and then spitting him out, leaving Enjolras breathless, confused, and frustrated.

This just had to stop, he thought, burying his face in his hands desperately. Madness and exhaustion was taking over, and Enjolras wanted, needed a way out of it all. These incredibly lifelike visions about Éponine and himself were the scariest things in his life, and to make matters worse, he was sometimes convinced that if he just went up to Éponine, pressed her hard against the wall and kissed her until they were both out of breath, the madness would stop.

That's right, he had such thoughts.

Enjolras just wanted to slap himself sometimes.

oOo

"Cheering you up is hard work." Éponine stated, stretching on the couch. "I need coffee."

"I don't have any." Grantaire mumbled under his breath. Éponine glared at him. "Oh, you want me to get you some?"

"Well, duh." She replied.

"But I don't really feel like going to Musain." He protested. Meeting any of his friends – especially Enjolras – would only drag him back to his state of depression.

But Éponine was flexible.

"Then go to Starbucks." She said with ease. "There's one right around the corner. Also, don't tell Combeferre because he hates Starbucks more than he hates people who are mean for no reason. And hurry because I have the feeling there might be no hot water left once you get back – but I will make you breakfast in return."

Grantaire grinned at her and kissed her forehead.

"You're an angel." Éponine gave him a haunting smile.

"Nah. I am the devil, but that's all the same to me."

oOo

Grantaire needed a minute or two to adjust to the morning light and the outside air – he had not left his apartment for several days before Éponine came to visit and he hadn't though anything could make him. But again, Éponine wasn't anything – she was a great kid, and Grantaire was very fond of her, almost like she was his little sister or something. She even brought out a touchy-feely side of him he didn't even know was there.

No, Éponine was pretty damn awesome. She was a pile of messy, wavy brown hair and dimpled smiles. She smelled of old books and chocolate and Grantaire thought that she just might be as broken as he was – they didn't talk about their past much, but from the dropped half-sentences they occasionally gave each other they both knew that not everything was peachy family-wise. They understood each other and even though they had only known each other for about 4 months or so, it sure felt like a lifetime.

The queue in Starbucks was so long and full of frustrated 14-year-olds Grantaire almost got the hell out of there twice, but he did promise Éponine coffee, and he wasn't going to break that promise – he had already broken too many in his life.

When he finally got to the counter, he found an exhausted teenage girl as the barista; her dark, wavy hair was covering her face. She didn't look at Grantaire.

"Let me guess." She said, her voice low and somewhat boyish. "You would like a Caramel Frapuccino and a Starbucks cup as a gift. And you would also like to take a picture of your drink with you iPhone and then _Instagram_ it so you friends could see how cool and hip you are."

Grantaire lifted his eyebrows. "Why on Earth would I want to do that?"

To that the girl looked up and blushed a little when he saw Grantaire. She straightened up and cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry – I thought you were a 15-year-old hipster girl."

"Happens to me all the time." Grantaire deadpanned and the girl chuckled. The sound of it was so familiar Grantaire had to look at her again – she, funnily enough, looked a lot like Éponine with her brown hair and dark, deep eyes. She didn't have dimples though.

"You look really familiar. Do you have a sister, by any chance?" Grantaire realized that this might have sounded like he was hitting on her but that was so far from the truth he hoped the girl could tell the difference. She eyed him a for a second and when she decided he was genuinely curious, she answered.

"Nope, no sisters. Just a little brother." She said, smiling a little.

"I see." Grantaire nodded. "It's just, you look a lot like a friend of mine."

"Are you saying I'm not a special snowflake?" The girl said, pretending to be offended. Grantaire smirked.

"I'm Grantaire."

"Azelma." She smiled, shaking his offered hand. "So, what would you like to have?"

oOo

Back at the apartment, Éponine was humming off-key, while making sandwiches. She liked sharing a meal with Grantaire, it felt cozy and comfortable. It felt like something they would do.

Yes, Grantaire and her were friends without a doubt, he was right – but what was the word for what she had with Enjolras? She was beginning to think that she might feel something more for him than friendship, and she did not like this feeling, especially now that he was blowing her off.

_What were you thinking, anyway? That he would stick around? Be your best friend for life – maybe something more? That maybe he could love you?_

She shook her head disapprovingly. She was stupid, of course. Enjolras could never love her. No one could ever love her like that.

But she had to admit that she was amazingly happy when she was with him – her life-long fantasy in the flesh, the man she always dreamed of was there with her and actually enjoyed her company, or so she thought. But now it all seemed to drift away. Enjolras must have realized that she was a wreck – he might have found out that she was going nuts.

The violent ringing of her cell was the one to break her out from her reverie, a call from an unknown number.

"Hello?" She said.

"Mademoiselle Éponine Thénardier?" A stranger voice said, a woman. Éponine frowned and nodded – then she realized that the woman couldn't see her.

"Yes, it's she."

"I regret to inform you, mademoiselle, that your father, Sebastian Thénardier had a heart attack yesterday. He has passed away."


	13. Montfermeil

**A/N: I reached 100 reviews the other day (okay, it might have been 2 weeks, I'm sorry) I was so happy, aww : ) As a gift (or a curse, as I was told by a lovely anon who said I gave her the greatest of feels) to all of you, here's chapter 13, in which all kinds of things happen.**

**I'm too tired to proof-read properly, please forgive me the typing mistakes and try to understand what I'm meaning to say.**

**(God, I'm so nervous about this chapter – please be kind.)**

The heavy, green door of the Thénardier house opened and a woman entered; her figure tall and her hair a fizzy blond, her face white as a sheet, and her eyes red and cried out. She placed her keys on the window sill and was about to cry 'I'm home!', when she realized – there was not a soul there but her. She was all alone in their house, in _her_ house now – just her, Cécile Thénardier.

Madame Thénardier looked around the foyer and found that her husband's shoes were still thrown on the ground instead of being put in the shoe cabinet even though she asked him so many times to put them away… but he just wouldn't – when he was in a good mood, her Sebastian merely shrugged and assured his wife that he would put his shoes away at once but when he was mad, then he was like the lightning, and Madame Thénardier dared not disturb the sparkling wonder he became.

She motioned toward the shoes and then realized what she was doing and shook herself; an eerie and humorless laughter left her lips. It didn't matter where his shoes were anymore for Sebastian was never going to put them away. She could throw them out, burn them or… or leave them there forever; yes, that idea seemed right.

Madame Thénardier went inside the living room and walked up to the green, robust mahogany desk and opened the upper drawer – that drawer was her secret, the one thing she would turn to on the nights she couldn't find a way to sleep; the drawer was full of photos and drawings of Éponine – her baby, her only child, the one she lost and would never get back.

After Éponine left them Cécile did her best to feel sad, to actually mourn her daughter, that's why she always looked at the photos of her, she kept them on the desk, along with her wedding photo, until one day Sebastian came home.

"Put those goddamn pictures away." He shouted, shutting the door behind him.

"But – Sebastian-" She protested, her hands shaking.

"_Ça suffit_!" He cried and grabbed his wife by the shoulders and shook her violently. "Put them away or God knows what just get them out of my sight. I do not want to see her face in this house."

_You won't_, she thought back then. _You won't because she is never coming back, I have lost my child forever and I am not as sad as I should be – I am a terrible human being._

She tried so hard to feel sad, to feel bad and abandoned about losing Éponine – but all she felt was emptiness and it killed her softly, almost tenderly and God, she hated it, every second of it. She was fed up with the ringing emptiness of her own heartbeat, how she was completely on her own in her house, in her life; there was nobody she could talk to, not anymore, not since the day Sebastian came home drunk and angry and mad with despair and hit the two of them, Éponine and her; Cécile unconsciously touched the mark on her shoulder where her husband's hand hit her for the first time and felt tears gather in her eyes.

She met Sebastian when she was still in high school and fell in love with the mere sight of him – he was such a charming and cheerful man with a smile that would melt her heart. Real heat and passion radiated from him that she – as the weakling she was – felt utterly attracted to. Cécile knew for sure that she needed to be where he was and was shocked when he seemed to think the same thing.

The two of them got married straight out of high school and when she found out she was expecting it all seemed to make sense; Cécile had never really wanted kids but Sebastian was so excited about the baby and if he was happy then that was all Cécile wanted, really. She needed to see her husband happy and giving her that warm and fearful smile.

No, she never really wanted to have kids, she couldn't picture herself as a mother, not even after they had Éponine; her big-headed baby girl with the bluest eyes was staring at her as she held her in the hospital and it felt like it was somebody else's child. Not hers. Not hers, not hers, not hers.

But Sebastian was so happy about having a daughter; he worshipped Éponine, called her his little girl and kissed her cheeks affectionately – the sight of them was so intimate and homely and Cécile felt a cold twitch in her heart as she watched them together. They clearly loved each other so much, her husband, her love and her… her daughter. What was she doing wrong?

Seeing how easy it was for Sebastian with Éponine Cécile tried her best to be a real mother to her child – she brushed her hair every morning and dressed her in pretty clothes, she taught her how to bake and gave Éponine smiles and laughs – but it was all so forced and did not feel natural at all.

It was so much easier to pretend that she wasn't completely broken when Sebastian was so happy and so proud to be a dad, but after the beatings started it was all breaking down on Cécile. She looked in the eye of the man she adored and couldn't live without every new day and found the despair in his expression, found the fear and anger that he must have been feeling – and she felt it too; she felt fear for him and of him, it was obvious in the way her hands would start shaking when she heard the door open, in the way her breath hitched when Sebastian raised his voice. She was terrified of this man that was her husband, the love of her life but it mattered not for she found she still felt this unbearable need to please him, to give everything he wanted – if he thirsted, she would be water for him, if he felt the need to destroy she would be a flower for him to rip out of the soft, warm ground and if he wanted to hurt, she would want to be hurt; she would kick and scream and cry just to make him happy.

Besides, it was so much easier to feel pain than be empty – it was the lightest thing and yet the heaviest. Madame Thénardier's life was so cold and dark and full of echoes that she needed to fill it with something, and why couldn't this something be the pain her husband caused her?

She never really wondered how Éponine was coping taking the beatings; she was selfish and weak – she was a bad person who didn't think about her own child, but there was one thing Cécile was certain of: Éponine experienced it in an entirely different way, it was obvious from the way she looked at them when she told them she was moving out and disappearing from their lives for good.

That was when Cécile figured that she wasn't the only broken one.

Tears were now streaming down her face; she wept silently in the living room.

Her Sebastian was dead – he was really gone and ambivalent feelings fought their way inside Cécile Thénardier; the feeling of having a rock lifted from her chest and then thrown back at her, she was drowning one minute and gasping for air the next.

She dizzily wandered around the living room and into the kitchen, not quite knowing where she was, not quite seeing.

_I could cut my wrists open and bleed out here on the kitchen floor_, she mused in a curious voice. _And no one would notice. No one would care._

She didn't realize she was kneeling on the floor, humming to herself until a hand touched her shoulder delicately, almost with fear. Madame Thénardier looked up, her vision hazy.

"_Éponine?"_ She asked in a choked whisper.

"Hello, Mama."

* * *

The bed was bathed in the morning sunlight when Cosette awoke. She felt something fluffy moving against her and brushed it off her, muttering still half asleep.

"Ugh, Patria, no." She ordered the cat but only got a meow full of complaint as a response. To that Cosette lifted her head and tried to comprehend her surroundings; she was lying in her bed with Marius holding her and snoring into her neck. Their bedroom's door was open and the light from the living room burst in cheerfully. Patria, Marius' cat who was probably suffering from identity disorder due to the regular change of names was lying at the end of the bed, scratching the headboard.

Cosette made an attempt to move but quickly found that she could not, at least without waking her boyfriend up. She tried to softly poke Marius so he would move but didn't succeed. She sighed.

"Marius." She breathed. He grunted in response. "Marius, wake up."

"Why?" He asked, his voice incredibly sleepy and slightly annoyed. He sounded like a little boy when he was tired – actually, now that she came to think about it, he did most of the time.

"Because I can't move with you enveloping me, sweetheart." Cosette informed him with a small smile.

"I thought you liked cuddling." Marius murmured, but moved nonetheless, letting Cosette sit up and run her fingers through her messy, blond hair.

"That's you, darling." She said, patting Marius fondly.

"Right."

Cosette rose to her feet and stretched slightly, looking around the room, thinking about breakfast and that Marius might run down the shop to get her cereal if she asked nicely when it hit her – Éponine. Cosette let out a gasp in horror and the sound made Marius jump to his feet at speed light, his face full of concern.

"What – what is it?" He demanded, all sleepiness gone from his voice. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Cosette merely shook her head, looking to space.

"No – no, I'm okay, it's just." Cosette frowned, thinking about what happened last night.

"Are you having bad dreams again?" Marius murmured tenderly, stroking Cosette's cheek.

_It was rather late and she was eating ice cream with her laptop in her lap when her phone rang and Éponine's dreadfully haunting voice blurted out 'He's dead.'_

"_What?"_

"_My Daddy, Cosette – he – he died." Éponine said, her voice sharp and almost dead, no emotion leaking through, only by the pauses she had could Cosette tell that she was upset._

"_Oh, my God." Cosette murmured, the image of the tall and terrifying man who gave nice smiles in the light but screamed and beat her friend in the night. "What are you going to do?"_

"_I'm going down there." Éponine's reply came. She said the words as though she had memorized them from a textbook, as though they meant nothing to her. Oh, sweet, darling, 'Ponine. "I'm going to Montfermeil for a couple of days, just for the – just for the funeral."_

_A pause._

"_Do you want me to go with you?" Cosette breathed, hoping she would say yes – and hoping she would say no; she wanted to help Éponine, she wanted to be there for her but at the same time she feared going down to Montfermeil with her. She hated that house her friend once lived in._

"_NO." Éponine said almost immediately, leaving Cosette with relief and sorrow. "No, it's okay, I want to do this on my own. I'll be back soon just don't – don't tell anyone, okay?"_

"_But," Cosette wanted to protest, thinking about Enjolras and Grantaire and-_

"_Promise me, Cosette." Éponine cut her off. "Promise me."_

"No, the bad dreams are mostly gone." Cosette replied, smiling at Marius as she did so. "It's nothing, really. I'm just really hungry."

"Come on then," Marius said, taking her by the hand. "I'll feed you."

"_I promise."_

* * *

Combeferre was never a man to lose his temper – really, he was the person that stayed calm even in the most raging of storms; he apologized when someone stepped on his foot, he smiled politely and listened to that old lady on the bus who decided to share her life story with him, he didn't get frustrated when people walking in front of him were slow as hell.

No, Combeferre was a genuinely kind and calm person and a person as such was very needed in a group like theirs; a group that was made of people like Joly who got upset if someone near him sneezed, and Courfeyrac who was like a little boy grown much too big with his loud and inappropriate laughter and shitty pick-up lines, Grantaire who had a twisted sense of humor and was more often drunk than not – and now Jehan, the dreamer poet who turned out to be quite badass when he joined in to help Grantaire out in a bar fight – to everyone's greatest astonishment.

And there was Marius who was the silliest ginger ever, always talking about Cosette or his cat with a goofy smile on his freckled face – it was even stranger to think about how the guy actually spoke three languages.

And there was Enjolras; oh there was no way he could be left out. Combeferre didn't really say it out loud but he was completely intrigued and stunned by that blond man who used words of life and magic when he spoke of the things that mattered to him and had everyone stare at him in amazement and he didn't even realize it. Enjolras was quite the marvel – at times it felt as though he was ablaze with his words of passion and wisdom and other times –

"What do you mean you don't deliver?!" Enjolras' voice came from the room next to Combeferre's, breaking him out of his reverie. He let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. Again, he wasn't one to lose his temper but Enjolras was sure as hell making it hard. The marble wonder sounded like a pouty child – it was beyond ridiculous.

"Because I want to eat, that's why!" His friend continued his telephone conversation and even though Combeferre couldn't hear the other side of the line he could very well imagine it. "No, that is not how it works – if you drop a menu in my mailbox than you ought to deliver the food I want! What do you mean that is none of your concern – who are you? Oh, stop, can I just talk to your superior? Sure, I'll wait."

Combeferre was making incredulous faces that, if they had been seen by any of Les Amis, would have made them laugh out loud. He rose from his chair and made his way to the room Enjolras was studying in – that's what he said he would be doing, at least, but apparently things took an unexpected turn.

_Don't let ever Enjolras argue with innocent restaurant employees_, he made a mental note to himself as he approached Enjolras, who was tapping the table impatiently. He was still holding the phone in his hand.

"Hello, yes." Looked like the 'superior' his friend wished to talk to came to the phone. This should be good. "I would like to complain about your restaurant not delivering – yes I am aware it is 8 in the morning and I couldn't care less – so what if I want to have crêpes for breakfast, who are you to judge me?! People like you is what's wrong with France-"

A violent beep was heard and Enjolras put the phone down, his face practically fuming with anger.

"They _hung up_ on me." He exclaimed, pressing every word. He was staring at Combeferre is a sort of 'can-you-believe-this' way and Combeferre was not amused.

"I can't see why." He deadpanned and frowned when he took a better look at Enjolras. His friend was clearly exhausted; there were dark circles under his very red eyes and he clearly hadn't shaved his face for several days, his stubble making him look like a refugee. His hands seemed to be shaking little bit.

It was of course nothing new for Enjolras to skip sleep because of important school work or the 'call of the country' but this time it looked like he was having a rough time. Combeferre couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with the pretty brunette Enjolras had been spending so much time with recently.

"Enjolras, is everything alright?"

"Of course, why wouldn't it be?" Enjolras replied immediately, his voice low out of sleepiness. "No one wants to sell me pancakes and I want pancakes, Combeferre, you don't understand – my mum used to make them all the time and I was always complaining about the smell the whole house had after and how they were unhealthy but now I just really, really want some pancakes."

"Yeah." Combeferre said, dragging the word out, narrowing his eyes. "So I take it you haven't slept in what, 32 hours?"

Enjolras smiled. "Sleep is for the weak anyway. I was busy."

"You always are." Combeferre said, eyeing the notebooks and papers in front of Enjolras. "What have you been up to?"

"I have come to the greatest realization the other night." Enjolras stated, trying to suppress a yawn.

"You say that every day." Combeferre said, shaking his head but Enjolras interrupted him.

"No, no – this is the real thing, Combeferre. I realized something – we keep having these protests and make speeches but actually everything we do has been leading up to this: we need to start a revolution." Enjolras stated in a rather solemn way, grabbing his friend by the shoulders. Combeferre's eyes widened and he tried to make Enjolras let go of him.

"What – a revolution?"

"Yes, of course! Just think about it; I have been reading about different revolutions in Europe and there was a series of rebellions in the 19th century: Paris, Vienna, Budapest and so on, all of these cities filled with people wanting one thing only; independence." Enjolras said, his voice rich with infatuation. Combeferre stared at him in awe – was this passionate man the same person who was just arguing about pancakes on the phone a minute ago? "Isn't that wonderful, my friend?"

"It is." Combeferre admitted. "But I am pretty sure that most of these were failed attempts."

"That is not the point." Enjolras practically yelled, gesturing with his hand somewhat awkwardly. "The point is the idea of it all – history is fascinating, Combeferre and it teaches us a lesson; we can learn from our ancestors' mistakes and actually start a successful revolution, I have everything planned out."

"Everything, huh?" Combeferre asked, taking Enjolras' words in. "And how, may I ask, did you draw this conclusion? That we have to start a revolution, I mean?"

"Uh," Enjolras said, rubbing his yes in exhaustion, "it was something Éponine mentioned, actually…"

"Right. Éponine. "A smirk graced Combeferre's lips now. "She's pretty great, isn't she."

Enjolras leaned back and groaned unhappily into a pillow.

"I guess." He murmured. "Can we not talk about Éponine, please?"

"Why not?" Combeferre teased. "I like Éponine – don't you?"

Enjolras was about to answer and possibly deny everything and Combeferre was going to call him out on his bullshit and let him know that it was achingly obvious just how much he cared for the girl and that it was completely normal to have such feelings for someone when Enjolras' phone rang.

Enjolras picked his cell up and looked at the screen, he grimaced when he saw Cosette's name on it.

"Cosette?" He said in a confused voice. "Why do I have your number in my phone?"

"That's not important." Cosette sounded upset, her voice cracking. "Look, Enjolras, I need to tell you something – Éponine made me promise not to tell anyone but I think-"

"What is it?" Enjolras cut her off, sitting up on the couch. His heart beat faster at the mention of her name. "Is something wrong with Éponine? Is she okay?"

"Well-"

"_Cosette._"

"Her- her father died yesterday. She got a call last night and went down there at once."

Enjolras made a decision in a matter of nanoseconds.

"I'm going there."

"Enjolras-"

"I _said_ I'm going there. What's the address?"

She told him. Enjolras jumped to his feet as fast as ever and started throwing stuff in a bag like a madman. Combeferre stood there frozen, watching him – his friend didn't seem to care that it was _his_ stuff, not Enjolras'.

"Enjolras!" He called.

"What?" His friend snapped, his voice unsteady – he looked so concerned.

"What happened – where are you going?" Combeferre demanded. Enjolras shook his head absent-mindedly.

"To see her."

And with that, he stormed out, slamming the door shut.

_I like Éponine – don't you?_ Well, Combeferre certainly got his answer.

* * *

There was messy doodle of a star on the ceiling of her bedroom, and there was a memory right next to it, Éponine realized that as soon as she lay down on her bed – _the_ bed, not hers; it wasn't hers anymore, not any of it, all this stuff belonged to somebody else. Another Éponine; a girl less scarred and brighter than the person she was now, a girl who would have her dad tell her that if she could reach the ceiling somehow to draw the star, she would be able to reach the very skies to touch the real thing. And she managed; the star was rushed and funny-looking but it was most certainly and without a doubt there, which meant that the little girl living in this room could not be stopped, not by anything.

But maybe that was a bad thing, not having anything or anyone to stop you and always running and marching to the blackness of the unknown, until you are completely empty – and Éponine was running, running from the house she once called her own, running from the parents she once held onto. Above everything, she just wished to escape from it all and be free at last, free like a bird, flying high across the sky… She was only now beginning to see how lonely and sorrowful the life of a bird could be, not having roots, and not having a home.

Éponine hadn't felt like she had a home before; she had a dorm room, she had a place to sit at the café and she had friends to be with but this place, this haunted place made her realize that what she had in Paris was holier and better than anything this house in Montfermeil had to offer. She thought of her friend with great gratitude; her Cosette, Grantaire, _Enjolras_…

Enjolras.

She gulped and sat up on the bed, taking the sight of her former bedroom in – this was the place she made a thousand drawings of smiling people and named the pictures Family, this was the place she cried herself to sleep after her father hit her and her mother and this was the place when he would come in the next day, his eyes dead hollows, his face desperate, begging Éponine to forgive him, saying _'I'm so sorry, Épona.'_

Enjolras called her Épona once or twice, too, and Éponine was left breathless each time – it felt a secret that he spoke out in such an intimate way. How could he possibly know this name, how could he – she didn't understand any of it and was too tired to deal with thinking about him.

She just desperately wanted to be Épona again, a beautiful little girl with an ear-to-ear smile and a smiling mother and a dad who would pet her hair and laugh with her. She wanted to feel beautiful and happy and light, everything that she was not any longer.

A dream, all a dream, that ends in nothing.

Éponine came back to Montfermeil to find her mother having a mental breakdown on their kitchen floor, she came back to find the absence of her father ringing in her ear.

"I only came for a couple of days." She murmured to her mother, not looking her in the eye. Madame Thénardier nodded briefly and sat down on a kitchen chair next to her daughter, humming a song unknown to Éponine. She gasped and her voice broke when she spoke again. "The lady from the hospital said they would take care of everything, the funeral and stuff. I just wanted to make sure you were okay out here."

Her mother nodded and tried to smile and the movement made her face look even more exhausted. Éponine sighed and rose from her chair.

"You should go to bed, Mama." Éponine took her mother by the hand and lead her to the bedroom, the room she used to share with her husband but what was now empty. She didn't stay long enough to see if her mother had fallen asleep or not.

She wanted to be alone – and she wanted to stand on a chair and scrape and scratch the ceiling until that doodle of the star was gone for good and then she wanted to scream and pull her hair out.

She didn't want to be alone.

Her trail of thought was interrupted by a knock, a short but decided knock, a knock she would recognize anywhere but – it couldn't be.

As Éponine made her way to the front door she felt her heart beat faster and faster, her breathing uneasy – the feeling she got when she opened the door and saw Enjolras standing outside was indescribable. She felt so _relieved_ to see him, the sight of his beautiful face made her weak everywhere and his eyes were full of raw emotion she had no idea he could possess. Suddenly everything was falling down on her; the fear she had having to be in this house, the strong urge to press her lips against his and forget the rest of the world.

But instead she hit him on the arm.

"Éponine." He breathed in a choked voice, presumably surprised by her reaction to see him.

"_You_ – you said you wanted to be my _friend_!" She cried, hardly able to form the words that had been haunting her. "And you just start avoiding me like I was never there to begin with once you got bored of me? You can't just do that to a person, you-"

"I know." He said, trying to calm her down, putting his hands on her elbows, pulling her close. His glorious blue eyes were filled with kindness and regret. "I know. I'm so sorry, Éponine – I, I'm sorry."

Éponine gasped and for the longest moment she and Enjolras were staring at each other in awe, as though they only now saw the other for who they were. And then Enjolras pulled her in for an embrace. Éponine held onto him tight and breathed his scent in and Enjolras had his hands in her hair, petting her head and whispering her name. She never wanted to let go.

* * *

"Cosette told you what happened, didn't she?" Éponine whispered as they were both lying on her bed, close to each other.

"She did, yes. Just this morning." Enjolras replied.

"And you came here as soon as you heard?" She asked him, not quite believing it.

"Yeah."

"Why?" Éponine asked, her voice genuinely curious. Enjolras glanced at her.

"I just wanted to see you." He admitted like it was the simplest thing in the world and his gaze made Éponine shiver. She looked away.

"I hate it." She whispered, more to herself than to Enjolras. "I hate it here – this house is choking me. Let's go somewhere."

Enjolras sat up on the bed and frowned.

"What? Where?"

"You came here by car, yes?" Éponine asked and when Enjolras nodded, she licked her lips excitedly. "Then I'll show you something."

"Éponine-" He wanted to protest but Éponine was having none of it.

"Get the keys."

The drive was quick and full of stepping on the breaks and turning around because according to Enjolras Éponine had no idea how to give directions and Éponine kept calling Enjolras a horrible driver – but they found their destination eventually and got out of the car.

They were in front of a church.

"Éponine?" Enjolras asked, his voice full of newly-found concern. Éponine stared at the church building and smiled.

"You know, I used to be religious and I came here a lot. It was one of my favorite places." She whispered.

"It's a very nice place." Enjolras noted softly.

"You see the door?" She asked, nodding at the church. "It's almost 400 years old, it's from the 17th century – legend has it that during a very cruel winter the church didn't have any heat, and the members of the congregation sought help at the twin city of Montfermeil, Montmarmant – and the people of Montmarmant refused to help the church, so the priest and his brother decided to take revenge; they took the door of the Montmarmant church and brought it here to Montfermeil – and it has been here ever since. Also, the people of Montmarmant are not allowed to step into the church. They take that shit here seriously."

When she finished her story, Éponine glanced up at Enjolras who was looking at her in complete astonishment – his eyes were wide open and his lips parted. He swallowed.

"So, are you saying that _Église Saint-Pierre Saint-Paul_, one of the Catholic churches in Montfermeil has a 400 years old, stolen door?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Éponine nodded, smiling. "My Dad always said-"

She trailed off, her face bearing an expression of utter horror. Enjolras walked up to her reaching for her hand.

"Éponine?" He breathed.

"He, uh – he always said he wanted to be buried at this church." Éponine finished her thought, and gulped. She could feel tears gather in her eyes – God, it was all too much. Enjolras tried to take her hand but Éponine turned away, walking back to that car.

"This is a very nice car," She said, getting in it. "I like the color."

"Éponine." Enjolras called as he sat back in the car as well. Éponine was in the passenger seat, her hands covering her face, her hair falling down uncontrollably.

She was crying – and she hadn't cried since she left here, she hadn't shed a tear for this place and her family for a long time and now here she was, crying in a red Mini Cooper. The irony of the whole situation was not lost on her.

She felt as though a great weight was crushed against her chest – the weight of her life and her childhood, how she was never going to see her father again and how mad she hated him, how much she loved him – it was a terrible combination.

And here was this beautiful boy gazing at her like that, his blue eyes filled with something neither Éponine nor Enjolras could quite understand and he was everything she had ever dreamed of and more; his presence made her heart burst with joy and sadness, he made everything harder and easier at the same time and Éponine didn't understand it but she wanted it; she wanted _him_, she loved him-

Wait, what?

"You're beginning to use my name as though it has a meaning to it." She said in a hoarse voice.

"_It does_." Enjolras replied whole-heartedly and Éponine snorted.

"It's probably the only thing I've ever got from my mother. But names don't really matter – I don't know yours."

Enjolras was now looking at Éponine as if he was seeing her for the first time; the crying made her face flustered and a bit snotty and her hair was a mess – and she was beautiful and glorious, inside and out. Oh, how dear she was to him, he'd had no idea until this moment.

"It's Gabriel." He blurted out in a throaty voice and with that, Éponine was the second person who he had told his Christian name.

Éponine glanced up, her face surprised.

"What?"

"My name," Enjolras explained, clearing his throat. "My first name – it's Gabriel."

For a moment that seemed like forever Éponine just stared at him and then, on impulse, she leaned in and pressed her lips desperately against his.

* * *

**OH MY GOD. **

**Also, Montmarmant is completely made up, however, _Église Saint-Pierre Saint-Paul_ isn't.**

**To be continued...**


	14. They Are Lying

**A/N: Thanks everyone for the lovely feedback!**

**I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Claire (stargazingandsunshine on tumblr) for the great advice on how to write kissing scenes : D I cherished it.**

**This chapter was quite the struggle for me because: kissing and crying and internal breakdowns and biscuits.**

**I'm sorry this is so short, I just wanted to slow things down a little bit.**

**Enjoy! ; )**

When Éponine's lips crashed on his Enjolras felt as though all air had been sucked out of his lungs, like all water had been vanished from the surface of the earth and suddenly Éponine was all there was – the sweet taste of her lips, how she breathed into his mouth as if surprised by her own actions and how he felt that he never wanted to let go of her again.

It was nothing quite like Enjolras had ever experienced; she was air and she was water and he thirsted only for her, wanted nothing as much as to be close and close and closer to her, having her hands tangled in his hair, reading that tiny whisper of his own name off her lips with his mouth – it was a first kiss but there was something so desperate and achingly familiar about it that it felt as natural as breathing.

All rational thought left his mind when Éponine pressed her lips against his; she put her hands around his neck, pulling him closer to her with a foreign yet well-known urgency and Enjolras cupped her face in his hands returning her kiss with a newly-found fervor.

It all felt like a memory; she was the silence between his heartbeats and his hand was touching the gracious skin of her cheeks and Enjolras was taken aback by the familiarity of it all; his mind was once again bursting with images. He saw the two of them together, embracing and kissing and her clothes were ragged and her heart sang to him each time their lips met.

_You are mine_, her shape in his dreams whispered to him, memories of the unknown. _And I am yours, heart and soul._

Enjolras felt as though he was a different shade of himself; he was someone else who had the bravery to return Éponine's kiss and lose himself in it, someone who didn't find it odd or displeasing but natural and exhilarating. He just wished to sink in the very breath of her.

As Éponine lightly grazed his bottom lip with her teeth Enjolras couldn't help the little moan that escaped his lips – and the sound of it halted things completely; Éponine's eyes flew open and she slightly pulled back, letting go of Enjolras. She seemed to be replaying the last few minutes in her head as her eyes widened and she glanced away. She traced her swollen lips with her fingers and looked back at Enjolras with a horrified and uncertain look in her eyes.

He stared back at her, his heart thumping violently in his chest; he wasn't quite sure what was next.

"I-" Éponine breathed, avoiding his gaze, "I'm sorry."

With that, she got out of the car and walked away. Enjolras froze but managed to shout her name after her, only to find that she was now basically running away – from him.

Éponine's heart was pounding hard in her chest and her whole body was shaking; shivers ran down her spine and danced their way to her arms and legs, making it impossible for her to stand properly.

That kiss was the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced; the feel of his lips on hers and the heat his body radiated set her afire, making her feel like she was flying and drowning in the deepest oceans at the same time.

Éponine gasped as she thought of the kiss again; the memory of the warmth of his mouth and tongue made her insides flutter just the way she thought it would – a part of her wished to linger on those wonderful moments when she had her fingers in his hair, pulling him close to her and he moaned into her mouth. _He moaned into her mouth._

She was, once again, breathless as she always was whenever Enjolras was around; his kiss left a beat of some kind in her mind and soul, never-ending drums she became, shaken up and empty, empty, empty.

Éponine shook her head as the first tear fell down her cheek; there were a million questions in her mind and only one she knew the answer to: she knew why she kissed Enjolras. She kissed him because she felt drawn to him as she'd never had to anyone before, she kissed him because he turned her world upside down and because whenever she laid eyes on him or even thought of him her heart ached with a delicious ache and all she wanted to do was follow him wherever he went.

She kissed him because he would sometimes call her Épona and look at her with those glorious blue eyes of his and she would feel loved and appreciated again.

She kissed him because she had memories of him that she wasn't supposed to have, yes, she remembered Enjolras with her whole mind and soul – every look, every movement of his Éponine found familiar just the way she did with all those other people in her life. Friends, random people on the streets she ran into, that girl from Starbucks – there was something about them Éponine was sure she knew, she could feel it in her very heart and something about it wasn't right.

She didn't understand it and nothing had ever terrified her more.

Éponine suddenly stopped and winced when pain shot to her head, stunning her completely – and with the pain, unwelcome images came.

A tall, dark man stood above her as she was lying on the cold ground, doing the best to crawl away from him. Éponine could feel his legs kicking her, his hands shaping her violently, as though he was to open her wounds of shame and humiliation. She winced – the pain felt so real, so narcotic; it made her senses and limbs go numb, the only thing remaining was the man's hollering.

"You scream one time, girl, and you'll regret it for a year!" He raged. Éponine whimpered; she couldn't feel her body, she couldn't feel anything, her soul was slowly being scraped from her heart and skin, ready to leave her and fly away from her when-

She heard a car horn and she jumped; she was back on the streets of Montfermeil again, on her own – as she always was. Éponine touched her cheek to find that she had been crying again and kept walking even though she wasn't aware of herself.

She shuddered and reached for her hip where she felt the man's kicks – and a burning pain shot through her by the touch; an aching so blinding and consuming Éponine wanted to cry out to the world. There was a pressure building up in her as she thought of the dark, dark man – and the fire was eating her from the inside.

_He hurt me_, she comprehended, _and he enjoyed hurting me._

Here she was, her hair a mess from kissing and crying, her cheeks snotty and her skin tense, her lips swollen – something great and terrible was happening within her; dark shadows reached out and grabbed her every once in a while and gave her happiness one moment and agony the next.

Éponine put a hand above her violently beating heart and for a horrible moment she wished she could rip it out and end the uncertainness of existing – she longed for a white and calm place where there would be no eating herself up about whom she loves and whom she hates like she was some fucking Roman poet. No, there would be no questions to answer, no man to love, no mother not to love her enough – just her, her, her, or not even that. Maybe not having anything was the answer.

Éponine thought of the kiss again and let out a choked gasp – why did things have to be so complicated? Why did _Enjolras_ have to be so complicated? She suddenly felt a great anger for her surroundings, for every person passing her by. How dare he have such power over her, how dare he be a part of her life ever since the day she was born? How dare he-

"Éponine?" She looked up in horror, afraid that Enjolras might have come after her but the low, male voice didn't belong to the blond man, but to someone else – Cosette's father.

"Monsieur Fauchelevent?" She asked in a throaty voice, wiping her tears away in haste. She hadn't seen the man for quite a long time – ever since she left here, but of course she would run into him like this, a broken mess, that was just her luck.

"I've told you to call me Jean." He reminded her warmly, and approached her. He had an uncertain expression on his face realizing she had been crying, and if Monsieur Fauchelevent had been any other, ordinary man he would've got embarrassed and left her alone – but he had been both a father and a mother to Cosette, so he was pretty good at handling crying girls. Not that Éponine was a simple crying girl.

"Right." She replied, clearing her throat, trying to act normal. "Fancy meeting you here."

He grimaced. "Are you alright, Éponine?"

"Never better."

Monsieur Fauchelevent sighed and looked at her with a wary, knowing look. He was such a kind man, Éponine's heart felt eased just by his simple presence. Cosette's father was once a very important person in her life and Éponine felt surprised and a bit guilty that he wasn't on her mind more often – it had to be because he was a part of her life in Montfermeil. She wanted to forget this place and apparently, with it this man went, too.

He was soft the way Éponine had never known a person could be; he understood Cosette and her, too, he was a great parent who never asked questions about her scars, he only offered to take her to school.

_He's a strange one, my Papa, _Cosette once said._ Like, I don't even know why he wants you to call him Jean – that's not even his name. Also, he's really into gardening and baking, like a housewife from the fifties. _

"It's so nice to see you, kid." He said with a small smile, getting over the state of her – well, like it had been said, he never asked questions. "How about we have some tea?"

Éponine looked down on her and then back at the man with a blank expression. She sobbed.

"Tea sounds nice."

"I just talked to Cosette this afternoon, as a matter of fact." He chatted when he showed Éponine to the living room. She sat down on the couch where Cosette and she would play Monopoly and Cosette would throw pillows at her when she lost. "We speak every week but – it's not the same as actually being with her, you know?"

Éponine nodded.

"How is she, Éponine? How's my Cosette?"

Éponine froze – the genuine concern in his voice touched her and she realized something; Monsieur Fauchelevent didn't know about the miscarriage and that Cosette lost a certain glow about her. He didn't know and maybe he was better off not knowing.

"She's fine," She gulped. "She's happy."

"Good." Monsieur Fauchelevent sighed and smiled at her. "And what about the boyfriend? This Marius? Is he-"

"He's a great guy." Éponine assured him, thinking about her so-called feelings for Marius – God, it seemed like a lifetime ago, before she learned that Enjolras was more real than any person she'd ever met and when Cosette's laugh felt more natural and when she thought that college would be less complicated. She stared into space and frowned. "They're really good together."

"Okay," He replied, suddenly not knowing what else to say, what irrelevant thing to ask before he let her go. "So, how are the boys in Paris?"

_Dead_, a desperate voice cried within her, tearing her apart. _All dead, they are all going to die, this is a suicide mission._

Éponine had to cough; she felt choking and tears were gathering in her eyes again. _I'm a mess._

What were these random thoughts and images about – maybe there was another person inside her, trying to break out, tearing her weak flesh and soul apart.

"There aren't any boys in Paris." She whispered and Monsieur Fauchelevent made a face, realizing that she did not want to talk about that for some reason.

"Of course not." He replied, licking his lips. "So, what brings you here, Éponine? I had not thought I would see you down here again, not after – you know."

"Oh." Éponine's eyes widened. So he did not know – somehow she imagined everyone in the world stopped for a brief second when his father died, but clearly that was not the case. She tried to form words with little success.

"My father, he-" _–passed away_, she wanted to say but changed her mind at once. It was such a gentle expression, and she was certain that her father didn't just go peacefully, he left the world screaming and loud, trying to take everyone with him with his kicking-

_Kicking._ Éponine winced as one of her wounds (that weren't really there, only in her mind) started aching at the word – and then she just knew. The man, the tall and dark man beating her and shaming her in the vision was him; his father! How could she not see this right away?

How could she see it now?

"He died." She blurted out and she herself was surprised by the cruel simplicity of her phrasing. "Just the other day."

"Oh." He gasped and his face fell slightly. "I have – I have not heard. I am so sorry, Éponine."

"Ah-hah." She only managed to say, her face showing no emotion.

"How's your mother holding up?"

"She doesn't." Éponine smiled and then twitched – she suddenly felt a terrible feeling envelope her very heart; a cruel and cold hatred for the man beating her, for her father and it was a hatred she had never felt before, not for anyone. It snuck its way to her bones, filling and chilling them.

Monsieur Fauchelevent noticed the girl's inner struggle; he saw the tears in her eyes and the storm in her eyes and he leaned forward in his chair and frowned in thought – he always wanted to help her just as he always wanted to help Cosette, his daughter, from the moment he laid eyes on her. He couldn't help it.

"Éponine," He called solemnly, "would you like a biscuit?"

_He's a strange one, my Papa. But when he offers you a biscuit you know shit's real – he's very protective of his biscuits._

"Yeah," She breathed. "A biscuit would be lovely."

As the man stood up and went to the kitchen to fetch the biscuits Éponine felt the storms coming to her mind again, clouding her vision and leaving her breathless – she felt as though as was trapped at the bottom of a dark hole with no way out.

She felt tears streaming down her face – this wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to be happy and free, not chained down by her past and her own mind. Not chained down by the people she loved.

She was weeping silently when Monsieur Fauchelevent returned to the living room and gave her the secret bowl full of biscuits. He didn't seem to mind her crying.

And yet she felt the need to apologize.

"I'm so sorry – it's just, I'm not ready to cope with all of this." She said between sobs, her whole body shivering. "I am alone here and I hate it – I wish I could be like you."

"Like me?" Monsieur Fauchelevent asked, his voice full of disbelief.

"You are strong and independent and a whole person – and you don't need anybody."

"Éponine." He said, his voice now very serious, as though he was about to share the greatest truth in life. "Listen to me: you are a whole person – you are wonderful and strong and intelligent and a great friend to my daughter, you are your full self even when you are on your own. But note this: when someone gives you the impression that they don't need anyone in their life, they are lying."

* * *

Éponine, once she was excused to go to the bathroom and clean herself up, was once again headed home – how strange it sounded to call that house her home, how strange it was to call a place a home not a backpack or a flower or a person. Still, her mother's house in Montfermeil was the only place she could go to now and she hoped to God that she could be on her own there – no mother, no ghosts of her past, no Enjolras.

No Enjolras.

Éponine felt a familiar aching in her chest she he came to her mind and she could see him more clearly than ever before – his beautiful, tall figure and his blond hair, his blue eyes gazing into hers with such a serious, intense expression in them.

Her whole being longed for him, yearned for him to be there and take the pain away, even though a part of her was sure only more uncertainty would come with him.

She wasn't sure whether it was normal to feel so intensely about someone. She wasn't sure just what she was feeling.

_Beautiful, beautiful man. I want you here. I want you _out_ of here._

Éponine was close to the house when she noticed a man standing down the road, staring at her with an odd expression and Éponine was struck by memories again, except this time it made sense and it was ordinarily hurtful. Crooked grins and open-mouthed kisses, hardened touches and tight grips – why must she be haunted this way.

She kept walking and the man – a boy, really – stood still, waiting patiently for her to approach him, so unlike how he used to be.

He licked his lips when she was close enough for him to see properly and his voice was husky when he spoke.

"So it's true then," Montparnasse acknowledged. "You're back."


	15. A New Skin

**A/N: Again, I'd like to thank everyone for the lovely feedback, I'm happy for everyone who just joined the story and who is a regular customer, you guys are the best.**

**Sorry about the type-os.**

**Also, I really, **_**really**_** love Marius Pontmercy. And that's all I have to say about that.**

Azelma honestly didn't know what she was even doing here. She usually wasn't that girl who got into conversations with random guys at her work place and then go up to their apartment a few days later – but then again, this wasn't a usual situation and that guy Grantaire didn't seem like an ordinary guy. His sarcastic smile didn't say 'let's take this to the bedroom', it was more like a 'let's take this to the living room along with some gummy bears and ice cream and the let's watch my favorite movie' kind of smirk, and that certainly intrigued Azelma.

She could count the men who looked at her without wanting something on one hand; she wasn't very lucky when it came to them. Azelma was born to a world where she had no mother or father, she was found crying in an abandoned house long hours after she had been born, nobody knew who she was or where she came from, so she found herself in foster care, one family after the other, never quite belonging. She had brothers who would hit her and push her around, quiet boys next door who would eye her strangely, and fathers who didn't know where to put their hands. Evil men, cruel men, and funny men, stupid men she met but they all had one thing in common: they all wanted something from her.

That's why she was so taken aback when she met Grantaire a few days back; he seemed sincere and messed up and someone who didn't even think about taking advantage of her – of any kind.

That surprised Azelma, but definitely in a good way.

But that still didn't explain why she was here, standing outside of his apartment. Sure, it was him that called her – but why did she give him her number in the first place. She wasn't interested in him, per se, but at the same time she was – she was interested in how he lived his life, how he seemed somewhat broken and still managed to keep together, how he seemed to belong; yes, that had to be it, Azelma could relate to Grantaire and that was why she jumped on the opportunity to find out more about him – she herself never ever belonged before. Due to her unfortunate experiences with other people Azelma preferred to keep to herself and therefore she didn't exactly have friends the way she hadn't had a family before.

A family, Azelma repeated in her mind and smiled to the word – it wasn't so unreachable and foreign anymore as it had been, because she had a family now; an actual, proper family with a mother, well, a woman who took in kids and actually treated them like they were human beings. Alice was her mother now, she comprehended and found that the thought didn't bother her in the slightest – she thought of Alice, the woman with the bark-like laughter and wrinkles and hair turning grey fondly, because she gave her something nobody ever had before: a home.

Not only did she have a mother, she was given a brother, too; Gavroche was a messy, dirty, wild, and adorable child with fair hair and his favorite thing was to learn new and creative curse words. He was only nine years old but he sometimes talked like an adult; that's what growing up in foster homes does to you. He accepted her as a sister rather quickly to Azelma's pleasant surprise; he let her tie his shoes and scold him for cutting school, and Azelma loved every minute of being his big sister.

But the point was that Grantaire called her, asking if she wanted to hang out and told her his address, a building fairly close to the coffee shop Azelma worked at, and she didn't think about it twice before she said yes. Grantaire sounded like a person who had friends. Maybe he would teach her how to make one.

She shook herself a bit before letting out a deep breath and knocking on his door, there was no turning back now.

The door opened almost immediately and what was standing on the other side of it was Grantaire – wearing nothing but underwear. One would think that when a shy and lonely girl was faced with a not-at-all unattractive guy in his partially clothed shape, she would have blushed and fainted, however, strangely, Azelma didn't feel embarrassed at all.

"Hi." Grantaire greeted her, yawning and rubbing his jaw. Azelma raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"You're not wearing any pants."

Grantaire looked down and pouted slightly, musingly.

"Of course not – it's a Sunday."

She glared at him.

"It's Thursday."

"My point exactly." He replied and stepped aside to let her in. Azelma frowned but stepped into the apartment and she found that it couldn't have belonged to anybody else but Grantaire; it was very typically him – the paint from the walls and the half-dead plants in the corner and the paint brushes and blank papers and canvases practically screamed his name. It was very messy, too, just like his four day old stubble.

"You're an artist." Azelma said, as more of a statement than a question. Grantaire followed her inside and stopped next to her as she stared at his equipment.

"Apparently." He replied, faking surprise. Azelma snorted and grinned at him, Grantaire acknowledged that with curving his mouth. He had a really nice mouth underneath all the facial hair, she thought to herself as she eyed him thoughtfully, not quite aware of what she was doing. She couldn't help but wonder how much of the whole broken-guy thing was an act, and how much of it was pure honesty – she couldn't help the little skeptic voice inside of her that kept on saying that nobody could have their hearts that exposed, not even Grantaire. She turned away as she heard noises coming from the other room.

oOo

"You got anything?" Combeferre asked, resting his head on the table as he tried to rub the sleepiness out of his eyes.

Marius looked confused.

"What? I thought it was your turn?"

A tense silence came between them.

"You gotta be shitting me, man." Combeferre finally said, shaking his head. They had been playing chess for the last half an hour and it had been the low point in his life, to be sure. When Grantaire called asking if he wanted to spend an incredibly boring and agonizing afternoon in Marius' company Combeferre said yes because he honestly thought that his friend was joking, but looking at it now, he clearly wasn't. Though Combeferre was a very patient man, he couldn't very well react to the phenomenon that was Marius – that boy was sure hard to read; he gave the impression of a giggling school boy the first time Courfeyrac brought him around; an awkward boy grown too tall and big, with ginger hair and freckled face and a giggle-ish laughter. _He's not to be taken seriously_, Enjolras murmured to him after their first encounter and Combeferre merely shrugged in response. Enjolras didn't think about Marius after that, but in the back of Combeferre's mind the boy was still there, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

He didn't understand why he would think about Marius, and he came to the conclusion that maybe it was his romantic side thinking that there was more to everyone that just a stammering idiot. He didn't meet Marius for a good week after the first time but somehow he always found his way back to his mind. Combeferre, the good judge of character that he was, somehow hoped that there was a reason he wondered about the Pontmercy boy so much. He didn't tell anyone of his musings though – he knew Enjolras would only frown at him, he who never had a problem with judging people the first time he met them, and the rest of Les Amis probably didn't think about him at all, with the exception of Courfeyrac.

He was a mystery, this Marius – the next time Combeferre saw him he did his best not to miss a thing about him, and he observed him rather obsessively the whole time. He and Courfeyrac stumbled in to the café a week later, the latter smiling like a fool. At the time only Enjolras and Combeferre were present, and while the blond only nodded to acknowledge Marius's presence, Combeferre offered him his hand – and the ginger gladly took it, shaking it firmly. _Good handshake_, Combeferre thought.

Marius gave him a shy smile and cleared his throat.

"We didn't exactly have much chance to talk last time we met."

"Not really." Combeferre confirmed. "You did however seem a little over-eager."

"I was really drunk." Marius admitted and Combeferre laughed.

"It was 4 in the afternoon!"

"It is not something I'm proud of." Marius explained.

After that they talked about approximately everything; school and food and late night talk-shows and for a painfully long period of time, even politics. Marius mentioned something about his theories of Napoleon and the Empire, and how France or any country, really, cannot stand on its own, without a leader. He talked about the parallels he discovered between Bonaparte's empire and today's republic and how a good and strong leader is all a nation needs. That's when Enjolras, who had been staring at his papers, pretending not to be listening to their conversation, joined in.

"Excuse me?" He said, with sternness in his voice that made him sound a bit terrifying, even to Combeferre. Marius repeated his beliefs and Enjolras listened and stared at him with his lips pursed. And that's when all hell broke loose – but for two people that could be so loud, Enjolras and Marius spoke calmly yet passionately. Combeferre couldn't help but stare at their debate, their voices filled with such conviction it seemed impossible that a person could be so sure of what they are saying.

"For the love of God," Enjolras said for the hundredth time, clearly annoyed with the ginger, "do you hear what you are saying? France does not need anyone to make it great, the greatness is within our nation. The only possible solution of expanding that greatness is being free – and no king or emperor can make that happen. Only the power of the people can make that happen."

"Look," Marius replied after a short pause, licking his lips, his voice calm in an almost unearthly way. He did not seem intimidated by Enjolras in the slightest. "I'm not saying that the Empire was perfect, and I'm not saying today's corrupt government is perfect – all I'm trying to point out that good leadership can make the people work together better, it can make them unite and come together as one the way nothing else can."

"But-" Enjolras tried to interrupt but Marius lifted his hand to shut him up.

"Think about it this way: what would happen if there was no one to guide the people, no one to make the biggest decisions? Things would get chaotic; at first people would try to decide things together but then everyone would just do what they want, wars would erupt, innocents would get killed, there would be no unified price for groceries and other goods, everyone would just want to make more money – it would be hell. You misunderstand me, I think: I don't think anarchy is the answer. Our idea of what a leader is must be different. Countries and governments built on democracy is the way to go – but there still has to be someone who takes care of things, a face standing out from the crowd. Look at the prime minister, is he not a leader? And yourself – you are very much of a leader, even if you're not willing to admit that."

His words seemed to make Enjolras think like nothing had before; he stared at Marius for a good 2 minutes then licked his lips and frowned.

"Alright." He said finally in a hesitant voice. "You can stay here, I guess."

And with that, he turned back to his work. Marius shook himself a little and turned back to Combeferre, his face a bit flustered. He was clearly embarrassed by the little argument with Enjolras but Combeferre was nothing but amazed. The fact that Enjolras jumped on the opportunity to share his views of the Republic wasn't surprising but how the conversation went down certainly _was_ – by looking at his friend's face Combeferre could tell that Marius's point was getting to him, not that he would ever admit to that. But by letting Marius stay at the café, as in letting him come as often as he could, Enjolras involuntarily let Combeferre know that Pontmercy went from 'not to be taken seriously' to a guy that he found bright enough to educate.

And that was the biggest compliment you could get from Enjolras.

Combeferre gave Marius a reassuring smile, thinking maybe he had been right about him after all. Marius grinned somewhat awkwardly and then looked at his watch and went pale.

"Shit," he murmured, rubbing his jaw. He looked up and met Combeferre's confused look. "Listen – I know it might be pushy to ask a favor right now-"

"Anything." Combeferre said lightly. Marius smiled.

"Could you maybe give me a ride? I need to get somewhere and it's really urgent." Marius asked in a feverish whisper, clearly desperate to get out of there and Combeferre couldn't help but nod and walk out of Musain with him and to his car.

"Where are we going?"

"To _Père Lachaise Cemetery._"

The car ride was silent and quick, Combeferre actually drove faster that he usually did, seeing Marius so anxious to get to the cemetery – he never asked a question about why he wanted to go there, who he wanted to see, it was private and Combeferre was quite touched that Marius would trust him with something personal like that; a new kind of admiration for Marius was blooming within him.

At the cemetery Combeferre wanted to wait for Marius in the car but he turned around and shook his head.

"No, no, you can come." He said and Combeferre followed him, first to the florist's ('I'd like a white chrysanthemum, please.') and then inside the cemetery, until they stopped at one of the graves. Marius stood before it for a lingering moment then gently placed the flower on the cold stone, his hand brushing over it. He kneeled and gazed at the grave intently, his expression a combination of sad and happy – almost euphoric.

The gravestone had the name _Colonel Georges Pontmercy_ on it. _Below The Hope Of Blissful Salvation – a son, a husband, and a father._

So this was Marius' father.

Combeferre had no intention of bothering Marius in such a personal and intense moment, so he merely stared at him with a gaze filled with newly-found respect and admiration; the ginger teenage boy grown too big now appeared almost solemn to Combeferre as he kneeled in front of his father's grave. He remembered the one thing Marius murmured to him as he got in the car, telling him to get to the cemetery – _Someone's really expecting me._

Sometimes, Combeferre mused then, any connection with your parents can be counted as a blessing.

And even though Marius didn't magically become this sophisticated gourmet bourgeois who would do anything gracefully and delicately – he would fall over his own feet, to be honest and sometimes, well, most of the time he still acted like an oblivious child, but this experience made Combeferre think of him fondly; he was right about him after all – Marius, this freckled fool who spoke three languages and managed to make Enjolras speechless, was quite something.

Combeferre never liked saying bad things about people but he also wasn't one to lie for their benefit, so he was more than happy when, later that week, he was able to pull Courfeyrac away for a bit and tell him:

"Hey, Marius is pretty great."

Courfeyrac only grinned at him and shrugged.

"I told you guys he was awesome – but hands off, Combeferre, he's _mine_."

And now here he was, sitting across Marius Pontmercy and Combeferre couldn't help but smile at him softly. He was without a doubt really annoying sometimes, just like Grantaire or even Enjolras could be, especially since he met Cosette – he talked about the girl's soft and shiny hair and beautiful smile for what felt like days without growing tired. It was fascinating, actually. But since the incident with Cosette, when he hurried to the hospital without a moment of thinking, Marius was different when his girlfriend came up in a conversation. A ghostly and affectionate smile broke out on his face. It was nice to see how much Marius cared about Cosette; how part of her life he was. Combeferre could still recall the image of Marius bursting out the café when getting the call from the hospital, on the edge of crying-

That immediately reminded him of the event from a couple of days ago, when it was Enjolras' turn to run out on Combeferre and to Éponine – Combeferre was astonished but pleased to find just how much Enjolras cared about Éponine. _Could it be that he's in love with her, actually, properly in love, _he mused. It seemed very much possible after what had happened.

Combeferre was more than eager to talk to his friend about his situation with Éponine, but he was also slightly concerned about the girl – Enjolras did not seem happy at all when taking off, but surely, if any harm came to Éponine, they would know about that, isn't that right?

He sure hoped so.

Well, at least Cosette would know.

"Say, Marius." Combeferre mumbled under his breath. "How's Cosette?"

"She is much better, thank you." Marius' eyes lit up at once to the change of subject (or the presence of one, seeing how they didn't talk before). "She's in yoga class now, I'm supposed to pick her up in an hour."

"That's great." Combeferre spoke gently. He bit on his lower lip in deep thought. "She didn't say anything about Éponine to you, did she?"

"No." Marius responded, frowning a little. "Why would she – is something wrong with Éponine?"

"_Is_ something wrong with Éponine?" Grantaire asked from the other side of the room, his eyes demanding an answer. _Even Grantaire doesn't know anything_, Combeferre thought to himself, _even though he and Éponine are really close _– closer than any person Combeferre had seen his friend with; it was very much like they had been friends in some past life and now that they found each other again they shifted back to their former selves with ease.

Though Combeferre was surprised that Grantaire would let Éponine in his life so easily, especially after seeing she and Enjolras together – Combeferre knew that Grantaire had feelings for their blond friend he himself might not have been aware of, but Combeferre could just see it in his eyes, in his movements around Enjolras. But it was likely that Grantaire had no idea he felt something for Enjolras – because nobody, not even Grantaire could be so selfless that they befriended someone who might break their heart.

"There is nothing wrong with Éponine." Combeferre stated, although it wasn't necessarily true. "Not that I know of."

To that Grantaire loosened up a little and turned around to call out for someone.

"Azelma! You can come out now, these strange men won't hurt you."

Azelma's stomach turned over a little to his words but stepped in the living room all the same; it was messy and dirty and somehow cozy, just like Grantaire. There were two other men there, all tall and smiling and a little bit intimidating. She was suddenly aware of the fact that she was surrounded by _adults. _They both arose from their seat very politely and she walked up to them, why she did that, she wasn't sure. She offered her hand – she had read somewhere that it was only decent for a man to shake a woman's hand if it was the woman initiating it – and the one with the glasses took it.

"Aren't you gonna introduce us?" He asked Grantaire, without taking his eyes off Azelma. Grantaire let out an 'aah' and stepped closer to them.

"Combeferre, this is my friend, Azelma," She was more than a bit stunned by that introduction – wow, he really called her his _friend. _"Azelma, this is Combeferre, a great fellow."

"Hi." She smiled at the guy with the glasses – Combeferre.

"Also, this is my guy, Marius – Marius, Azelma." She shook Marius' hand as well and then just stood there somewhat awkwardly, crossing her arms around her chest.

Combeferre glanced at the girl – and realized that she couldn't have been older than 16; she looked really young and rather tired, dark circles under her eyes. There was an innocence about her that he found endearing. The uncertain expression on her face made her look like a little girl – and a little bit like Éponine, now that he came to think about it.

"You look like a child." Marius blurted out and Combeferre just massaged his temple – when he mentioned Marius being oblivious this is what he was talking about. But luckily, Azelma didn't take that as an insult, she smiled a dimpled smile at them.

"I _am_ a child." She declared. "A frightened, miserable child."

"That's the act you go with, huh?" Grantaire asked playfully and she shrugged.

"So you guys are friends." Marius comprehended. "Where did you meet?"

"NOT AT STARBUCKS." Grantaire called with eyes wide, like he just woke up from a dream. Azelma gave him an odd look and Combeferre raised his eyebrows.

"You met at Starbucks?" He asked, his voice filled with slight disgust – he couldn't help his reaction.

"Really," Azelma asked Grantaire in disbelief. "'Not at Starbucks?' That was how you were trying to cover it up? You can't run from the truth forever, Grantaire."

"I can try." His friend sighed, and looked Combeferre in the eyes. "Yes, we met at Starbucks. I'm so sorry."

"What's wrong with Starbucks?" Azelma asked and then shook her head immediately. "Sorry, I just realized that this was a stupid question."

"Combeferre hates Starbucks." Grantaire explained. "He had a near-death experience there once."

"And when he says near-death experience, he actually means that he couldn't find his mum and started crying." Marius added with a wicked smile. Combeferre elbowed him.

"It was horrible. I was 4 years old. There were all these strange and scary city people and one of them grinned at me and didn't have any teeth." He shuddered at the memory. "I haven't gone back there ever since."

Azelma bit her lip for a moment to process the whole story then gave Combeferre a brilliant smile, the kind that started out slow then took up her entire face, lighting her up.

"I'm sure you could do it." She said. "Go back, face your fears – you know, I work there."

Before he could reply, Grantaire laughed.

"You know, this is really nice of you, Azelma, but if not even Enjolras could convince him, I doubt you have a chance."

"Who's Enjolras?" She inquired and Grantaire frowned – apparently it didn't even occur to him that not everyone knew who Enjolras was, that he didn't affect the whole world.

"He's our friend. He majors in Politics and Philosophy; he can make speeches that convince you about anything in the world, as matter of fact."

"Does he now?" Azelma murmured absent-mindedly, picking up a picture from the table next to the couch; it was taken of Grantaire drinking, pointing with his bottle at the camera and smirking like an idiot, while the man sitting next to him rolled his eyes in annoyance. Azelma realized that she knew that man, that blond one.

"He has the face, right?" Grantaire asked, pointing at the blond man. "A very convincing face."

"Wait," Azelma stuttered, putting the pieces together – the man in the picture was the very same person who gave all those speeches in the park and on campus, the person Gavroche went on and on about, the reason her brother cut school – Enjolras. "_This_ is your friend, Enjolras? I HATE THAT GUY."

oOo

The chair cracked under Montparnasse when he moved, disturbing the dead silence of the Thénardier kitchen. He grimaced and began rubbing his scruffy face, avoiding Éponine's gaze. Hers was a dead and sorrowful stare that would have made anyone uncomfortable – she stared at her ex-boyfriend and wondered why on Earth she invited him inside. Except she didn't, she realized – she went inside and Montparnasse simply followed like he would when they were still together, always walking behind her, as confident as this was his house as well and in a way, it really was.

He let his dark hair grow a bit since the last time she had seen him, and clearly he decided that since he was able to grow facial hair, he shouldn't bother shaving at all – his scruff was beginning to look like a beard but surprisingly, it suited him.

He shifted again and the chair almost moaned under him in pain.

"Stop moving." She ordered in a throaty whisper. "You'll wake my – mother."

_Shut up, you'll wake my parents_, she would say to him when she was taking him up to her room in the middle of the night, laughing at his loudness.

Montparnasse nodded and went very still.

_He's still very handsome_, Éponine comprehended as she eyed him. Dark, so dark, with a wicked and deadly smirk, very charming and consuming. He nearly gave the impression of a hellion and that made Éponine think of Enjolras, the blond beauty with the angelic features.

_So different, so equally dangerous._

"You left me." He spoke in an unsteady voice filled with blackness that made Éponine lightly shudder.

"I left you." She agreed but she sounded uncertain, like she hadn't even thought about that this way before – after all, she left so much more than just Montparnasse that day, she lost thing that mattered a great deal more – her family, her childhood, her sparkle, her life. But of course, he was selfish enough to make it all about him.

"How could you do that?" He begged and Éponine realized that he was angry at her; it had to be building inside of him for quite some time and now all of it would be released on her. Was he going to hit her, she wondered. She could almost feel the strength of the punch down her neck, her arm, her leg – but it was all in her head, memories messing with her mind again.

She wouldn't let him hit her. She wouldn't let anyone hit her ever again.

"It was easy." She hissed at him in a way that made Montparnasse pull back. She felt triumph run down her spine; yes, she wanted to hurt him, she wanted to terrify him for once. "It was so easy because I didn't think about you twice that day, it was easy because you were bad to me – and how dare you ask me that? How dare you question me after what you and _he_ did to me?"

Her voice cracked at the mention of her father and Montparnasse's expression grew even darker.

"What he did-"

"Don't you dare blame this all on him, 'Parnasse, don't you fucking dare!" She whispered feverishly, her face flustered and her eyes burning with a passion Montparnasse had never seen before. "_He_ hurt me, he devoured me in a way that I couldn't understand then – I was merely a child. But _you_ – what you did is just as bad. You are the same, you and him. You gave me kisses and soft touches and you spat on me afterwards – and I was foolish and naïve and I didn't understand how abusive you both acted, how bad you were to me – why did you two hurt me, 'Parnasse? You were supposed to love me."

Montparnasse glared at her so intensely it almost set Éponine afire, it almost burned her alive. She felt strong now and powerful, just like she felt when she had those visions; she was fiercer, stronger, and scarier. She was Éponine Thénardier and nobody could take that away from her.

She pulled Montparnasse close to her on impulse, wrapping her arms around his neck, feeling his breath on her skin. She looked at him and didn't know if she wanted to tear him apart or breathe him in once again.

"You hurt me." She breathed, more to herself than him. "You ruined me. And I want to hate you both for it. Loathe you for it."

Montparnasse stared at her furiously and captured her wrists with his own hands, keeping her still.

"You can't say that." His voice was almost inaudible. "You can't just say that to me – I didn't ruin you, your father didn't ruin you. If you feel that way, well, then it's all you."

"It's my fault, then?" She begged, her voice filled with rage. "It's all me, isn't that right, 'Parnasse?"

"I didn't ruin you." He insisted, chanting the words like a prayer of some kind. "I loved you."

Éponine gazed at him and licked her lips.

"I know you believe that." _And maybe, in your own, wretched way, you did._ "But it's not true – and I deserve to feel loved."

Montparnasse squeezed her wrists so hard she had to suppress a cry. His eyes were boring into hers, his face violent and wild.

"Who else will love you, 'Ponine?" He demanded, his voice almost taunting, mad with anger. "That little blond boy I saw walking around outside, looking for you? He's your new love?"

"That is none of your business." She mouthed, her eyes wet with tears. She didn't want to think about Enjolras right now – not ever. She felt renewed, like a different Éponine – she was fearless and brave and wild and hard to scare, hard to scar.

"He's you savior, is he?" Montparnasse spat. "'Him with a capital H-'"

"Shut up." She hissed forcefully. "I don't need to be saved. Now let go of me, 'Parnasse. Let go of me."

Montparnasse looked down at his hands squeezing hers and gasped in horror. He let go of Éponine at once and looked at her desperately.

"I'm sorry, 'Ponine, I never meant to-"

"You never do." Éponine swallowed hard and turned her head away. "Now go away- get out."

Montparnasse finally broke his gaze and rose from his chair, his hands shaking.

"There was a time I could get under your skin."

"I've grown a new skin."

"So I understand. And it's all made of _Him_."

"No – it's made of _me._"


	16. Always

**A/N: When I say I love Marius Pontmercy I'm talking about the character, just to be clear. I love Marius Pontmercy. An awful lot.**

**I mean I love all my barricade boys, it's just that people tend to look down on Marius, which is a huge mistake but this is not the time or the place to discuss that, is it.**

_The door gently closed behind Éponine as she stepped inside the room; it was utterly peaceful as she could hear nothing but her rather heavy breathing. She looked around, taking everything in with great care; she wished to remember this place later as though she was still in it, as though she was still surrounded by the scent of it all. The loft was messy and fit its owner perfectly; it was filled with papers, letters and ink pots and above all, books. Enjolras, organized as he was, didn't seem to need a shelf to store his books on, but he put them everywhere, on his bed, on the floor and on his desk, books, books all around, closed and opened up. Éponine couldn't help but fix one of them so its spine wouldn't crack – she had always believed books were such holy and precious things; they were not to be ruined or damaged. She sniffed in the air nervously, with a ghost of a smile on her face; she prayed to God she wouldn't forget what this room smelled like, so much like ink and old paper and him and – like home, Éponine realized as she fondly traced the headboard of Enjolras' bed. _

_This place was more of a home to her than any other house she had lived in and he was bigger a part of her than any person she had met in her short life. His touches were burnt into her skin and she ached when he was not around her, her love, her only – her beautiful prophet sent to her, and yet, not truly to her. He was everyone's, this glorious angel, yet he belonged to no one; she loved him and knew that many others did too; he was impossible not to love, she had often thought to herself as she traced his face and the line of his jaw with her hands._

Mine_, she would whisper to him and relish in his shudder, _you're mine. And I am yours, heart and soul.

_And now her angel was going to be taken away from her and no matter how hard she kicked and screamed, he wasn't going to stay with her. There was never going to be any room for her in his life, not really – because that boy was stupid and wonderful and he had decided that he would die for his country no matter what. That was the path he had chosen._

_Éponine wished she could grab Enjolras and lock him in one of those drawers of his so no one could find him but her._

_She made no movement when she heard the door open again and when Enjolras sat on the bed next to her and reached for her hand, she winced and pulled away from him. She could not stand being with him now – not when he was shining so brightly, not so near the end._

"_Éponine." He called her name and it sounded like sweet honey trickling from his lips, like a prayer; oh, she was the one her angel was praying to and for after all, did she have the power to make him stay, glued to her forever?_

_She glanced down on his hand resting on her leg and felt tears gathering in her eyes._

_He let out a tortured sigh and his grip tightened on her thigh._

"_I understand you wish I spoke to you not?" Enjolras breathed desperately and Éponine grimaced; he had such a gentle way of speaking when around her Éponine's heart ached in bliss and misery, she had once told him that words were empty and mattered not, but oh how wrong she had been, she realized that now. How could a word, a single sigh be empty when coming from him, when filled with such feeling and honest caring? His words were dangerous as they could cut deeper than a blade, the look in his eyes could take the sweet air away from her. He was a terrible creature, her angel._

_He hated that she would refer to him as such, 'angel' – Éponine almost felt the urge to smile at the thought of his slight frown when she called him that, not-quite-teasing him. He would pull her close and murmur in her ear that he was no angel, no unearthly creature, just a simple man, and Éponine could see that, she knew that he was very human, no matter what his friends said about him being a perfect statue made of marble – he was flawed and dark and so very terrible; when he spoke to the people ancient hymns left his mouth, when he was at home planning his revolution his eyes and ears would be blind and deaf to all but a voice of a higher call and when he walked on the streets and men stepped aside, startled by his tall and muscular figure she could see how fearful he truly was._

_He had a temper and was annoyed easily, he could be very strict and stern around others. Before Éponine appeared in his life he had not yet known the gentleness of the heart and the workings of the soul; he was focused and determined, so very much a mind – cold and brilliant._

_But he was anything but heartless, anyone could know that just by looking at him, oh how he could burn, how he could fly – when Enjolras was devoted to something, he loved it and cared for it whole-heartedly, like there was nothing quite as important on this earth._

_It was with Éponine that he learned to let go and loosen up, step by step; she taught him how to ease under her touch and not tense, how to be himself without having to think about it and even though it was not a long period of time they had spent together, they belonged to each other now, skin pressed against skin, heart beating against heart. Éponine adored the way the sides of Enjolras' mouth would curl up when she was present and how he would always glance at her from the corner of his eyes. How he would sigh when she touched him. How he would hold her and tell her how dear she was to him, how much he loved her always, always…_

"_Oh how I wish you would speak to me!" She cried and apparently startled Enjolras by doing so. She still could not look him in the eye, those magnificent blue eyes that would drown her more than any water ever. "I want to hear your voice always, Enjolras."_

_Éponine flushed and she finally felt like she had the strength to look at him; Enjolras was gazing at her intensely, his blue eyes boring into hers, passion and love and a sorrow so great in them, and she just could not bear it any longer._

"_I want you to speak everything you will ever have to say." She whispered, her voice weak and full of raw emotion. She suddenly felt the urge to laugh uncontrollably and without humor. "I want you to speak about the weather with a concerned voice, I want you to curse the skies when you stumble into a piece of furniture and hurt your toe, I want you to speak passionately about the future and about long dead philosophers. I want you to scold Marius and Grantaire when they do not pay enough attention to the meetings."_

_She shifted closer to Enjolras and now she was almost sitting in his lap, her eyes always on his face and her hands on his chest, feeling the tempest of his heartbeat. Her last words came out in a soft and meaningful whisper, just loud enough for him to hear as she leaned in and said them against his jawline._

"_I want you to tell me that you love me and that I am the most beautiful creature ever to walk the earth, even if it is not true. I want your voice never to leave my memories."_

"'_Ponine." He breathed against her and she shook her head fiercely, not wanting to hear it – she already knew; that was the end for them, for their life together, dawn would come and he would fade away, leaving this room so filled with his person behind._

_How noble it was, the concept of a revolution._

_Éponine did not need his words now, she needed make-believe and happiness, she needed his love, his heaven in her hell, just _him_. She pulled Enjolras in and pressed her lips against his; the kiss was passionate straight away with Enjolras caressing her shoulder, neck, and cheek and she having her hands in his hair, pushing herself closer to him, then tracing the muscles on his back. She was now straddling him, kissing him furiously, her tongue against his, his stubble grazing her skin, his hands on her waist, grabbing at her so she wouldn't vanish into thin air, wanting her, needing her, always, always, always…_

_And this was how their last night went down; quiet kisses and moans in the dark, tears swiped away and heavy smiles shared. Éponine slightly pulled at Enjolras's hair as he showered a thousand kisses on her neck, stopping every other second to suppress a sob of love and pain._

_One time Éponine had Enjolras pinned down on the bed and she gave him a gaze ready to devour him completely. Tears were streaming down her face._

"_I want to hurt you." She whispered to him in the dark, her one secret, her only; _I love you, I will always love you_, it meant._

_He seemed to understand, seeing that his eyes fogged by desire and concern softened and he murmured back, "You're already hurting me."_

Enjolras woke up feeling as though he had been hit by lightning, he sat up on the couch, his breathing ragged, a tingling warmth on his skin and for a moment he had no idea where he was. He looked around through heavy eyelids to find that he was in a spacious room with almost no furniture save the couch he had been sleeping on and a yellow cupboard. Where was Éponine? She was just here with him a minute ago, she was kissing him and –

He almost panicked but then it hit him; he was in Éponine's house. Éponine's father died and he came out here to see how she was doing. Cosette told him about Éponine, she was her best friend. Éponine was his – who was she really. His _friend_, a person he cared about deeply.

He was Gabriel Enjolras, a student – good Lord, why did he have to remind himself of these things? He rubbed his face in frustration and covered his face with his hands, trying really hard to remember basic facts about his life and for a brief moment when he almost started to cry he could not recall anything; there just weren't any memories in his head, nothing other than the dream he just had, the dream about Éponine and him, together, always, always.

His head suddenly jerked up as he heard movements from the next room and just like that, his head was filled again with all the well-known memories, his mother making pancakes every morning, escorting Joly to the doctor's because he thought he was having a heart attack, punching Courfeyrac in the face, telling Combeferre to wear glasses because he would otherwise go blind, rolling his eyes at Grantaire, and Éponine, Éponine, Éponine – her dimpled smile, the sound of her laughter, the tears in her eyes when she answered the door the other day, her embrace, her scent and then her lips on his, so delicious, so soft and warm and wonderful.

How could he forget, even if just for a moment, all of this?

He rose from the couch and stretched a little, still breathing like he had been running a marathon, his mind crowded with newly-found memories and old ones battling. The room he had been sleeping in was very dark and it was only now, after a couple minutes that Enjolras could find his way in the room wrapped in shadows. He made his way silently to the bathroom and closed the door gently behind him so he wouldn't wake anyone when pouring water down his face.

Enjolras stared at his reflection in the mirror and swallowed hard, trying his best to gather his thoughts – those dangerous, terrifying thoughts filling his mind like a black river, drowning and destroying any sense from it. The last few months of his life felt like a wild roller coaster, a fast and unstoppable journey that he was on without even realizing it – his world had been shattered to pieces the day Éponine came into his life, taking it and turning it upside down; she was consuming him in a way he did not understand but he was damn sure he loved every second of it, every lingering moment he got to spend near her.

God, the things she was doing to him, it was all impossible, he was realizing it just now. He practically ran here to see Éponine after Cosette called, desperate to see her face, to be around her again, to feel the silk of her skin once more after trying to avoid her as much as possible. Ambivalent feelings crashed together within him and he knew he needed an anchor so he could at last find land below his feet, so he could escape this black river of thoughts – thoughts were a poison to men.

He ran his fingers through his hair, his hands shaking slightly and he let out an unsteady breath. When did he lose reality completely, he mused, when did it happen that he no longer had the strength to build a wall up around him, to deny what was happening to him, he did not know – but now all he wished was to see clearly.

All his life, he had been dreaming about Éponine Thénardier, her face appeared to him at night in his dreams, her figure haunted him in every waking moment – and then she turned out to be real, more real than any other person Enjolras had ever met, more real than he himself sometimes felt. She seared onto his heart, slowly, and then all at once, and now he could not imagine living his life without her being in it. He belonged to her completely.

Enjolras let out a choking sound as he thought of that – it felt so unlike him to think of such things, but why should he kid himself now? It was the simple, golden truth and there was something amazing and light about saying true things that made him feel more at ease.

And yet, the visions did make him feel uncertain about himself, his life.

He was remembering things he shouldn't have and he was forgetting things he should always carry with him – Enjolras was losing pieces of himself, important, glorious pieces that were replaced by pieces of another person; the man he was in the world of the visions. Oh, those goddamn visions.

They were so, so real and tragically close to him; he felt he knew more about the world he saw in them than the one he was actually living in - was he becoming someone else, was he losing his old self completely, he wondered. Maybe he was. But he was so past caring it actually scared him. As long as it meant having Éponine in his life, hearing her breathing next to him, getting to look at her every day, he could not care about going insane – why, he was ready to go straight to hell, really.

He almost blushed as he thought of the kisses he and Éponine shared in the dream, he felt himself flush as he wondered about the touches and sweet caresses Éponine gave him, the tears they both cried, the smiles they shared – and then he thought about how Éponine kissed him just yesterday in his car, how her hands roamed on his back, how his hands cupped her face, how he shivered when her tongue touched his…

She kissed him, she actually, truly kissed him like he was the only man on earth and Enjolras's heart fluttered at the thought of her wanting him and he felt that he could no longer deny what he wanted, what he _needed_.

More than anything in life, he just wanted Éponine.

**This chapter's rather short and shitty but I just needed to get this scene out of my system and I didn't want **_**everything**_** to happen in one chapter, as I originally wanted Enjolras and Éponine to have a talk, but I decided to take things a little slower…**

**I apologize if it's too messy; I'm so talentless it's incredible.**


	17. They're Taking The Hobbits To Isengard

**A/N: Wow, this is a really depressing chapter for me, I wasn't sure whether or not I should post it, but here it goes. I'm sorry for not updating earlier but I was on vacation and didn't have my laptop with me – or electricity of any kind, it was torture.**

**I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Crazy Cherries, who's just the best and a person whom I want to make tea and read a bed time story to. You're awesome. And I promise things are going to get better, don't let my depressing and lacking writing style fool you.**

In that moment as he found Éponine kneeling on the kitchen floor, she reminded him of his mother. There was something about the way she was leaning over on the cold stone, so light and heavy that a memory hit Enjolras, not quite like a lightning as with the strange visions but like a rush of air when you open the window in the morning, cold and sweet.

It was rather surprising because the two women were nothing alike, one is the sun and the other is so like the moon. Enjolras hadn't thought of his mother for years, she was a faint shadow in his mind anyway, long gone, leaving nothing but fragments behind. Yes, fragments of her bright smiles, the line between her eyebrows, and the warmth of her palms when she touched him. _My little star_, she would call him, _my little Gabriel._

He was taken aback when he found that it was harder and harder to remember her as each day passed; the cavity between her teeth when she laughed, the gold of her hair, the blue of her eyes, that deep, deep turquoise ocean that drowns you when you stare at it. It was all fading away and here he was, 13 years later, chasing a ghost.

Thirteen years, he comprehended, how long it had been since she was found bled out in the bathtub, leaving no soul but her unfinished meal and a barely readable note behind.

Before she committed suicide, his mother could often be found sitting on the ground with her hands in her lap, leaning over as though she was looking for something, her face filled with horror and something he couldn't understand. When he asked her about she always gave him a smile, uneasy and not at all reassuring. _You know me, my little Gabriel. I'm just being silly._

If Enjolras had been anybody else, he might have said that he was a person who understood grief, who lived and struggled through the darkest parts of it all and survived – but he was himself and he was damn sure that grief wasn't something that could be understood.

No, grief and love and caring were not things that could be understood or explained. They were things that woke you up at night with a knot in your throat and a strangling tightness in your chest. They were things Enjolras though for a long time that he would never engage in – and here he was, completely swallowed and consumed by these feelings, just like when he was a little boy, when he saw his mother kneeling on the kitchen floor all alone.

He was never an easy kid; he had a complicated relationship with his father who always told him he was careless and didn't concentrate enough and wasn't dedicated enough, wasn't good enough – enough enough enough. That was all he heard growing up from the tall and strict man who watched over him, the man who was his father but who he had to call 'sir', the man who hardly ever smiled at him. He vaguely recalled that his mother's face always softened when he talked of his father's wrongs, as though she did not wish to acknowledge the tension between father and son. _You are so alike, the two of you_, she would say_, you'll make it work._

And that was all she would ever say about how M. Enjolras looked at his son and saw his own flaws, how he hardly ever had a good word to say to him, how he always expected him to be someone great and greater, good and better, than the person he had been.

It only got worse after his mother died. Even though Enjolras' father was never bad to him as Éponine's father was to her, the silent terror and torment he used on him affected Enjolras just as much. He became a stern and serious young man, one that would always consider what was useful and what wasn't, what would take him ahead and what wouldn't – I want to do something great, he would say and when people ask him why, he has a great answer, one that shows intelligence and compassion, one that he could be proud of. He sometimes dreaded the day someone would ask him why he decided to do great things, because his answer would be as desperate and empty as a bird with broken wings, trying to touch the skies.

Interestingly enough, his mother barely ever crossed his mind, he kept her memory bottled up inside him, not anticipating that all the colors bursting in him would one day explode and they would be shown to all.

One thing did say a lot about how he dealt with things; after his mother's death, he firmly asked everyone to stop calling him Gabriel.

"Éponine?" Enjolras called softly, and when the girl looked up and he was once again drowning in the darkness and depth of those magnificent mahogany eyes, he realized something with fear and surprise and appreciation; there was a spark in those eyes and in the curl of her mouth as she gave Enjolras a haunted smile, a spark that howled of life in words long forgotten – a spark that told him that Éponine was nothing like his mother.

oOo

The light was the most delightful of them all. Azelma had never known that beauty could be captured like this, in a few brushstrokes, colors on top of each other, and light, the sweet light of the sun painted on the canvas as it bathes the surface of the lake in its pure gold. She traced the shapes of the water lilies, one by one with great care and she found that her eyes couldn't be wide enough, she couldn't stare enough to take it all in.

It was amazing for her to see that such beautiful things could be made by a single person. Art had always fascinated her as she was a stranger to it; she could never draw or write or sing or dance very well and it was a wonder for her that some people were surrounded by this glow and they just moved their bodies, wrote words, used their voices, drew lines in a certain way and beauty came out of it.

She had the urge to chuckle incredulously as she thought about how she was in a guy's apartment she didn't know a couple of days before and she was admiring his art. Azelma was by herself in Grantaire's study; he and his friends were piled up on his couch and all she could here was the loud, dramatic music coming from the television.

The room was filled with the man's painting equipment, brushes, canvas panels and paint, paint everywhere, colors washing into each other like a river made of light, and even though the stinging smell of oil paint irritated her nose, Azelma still felt comfortable in the room. There seemed to be a holiness to the place where Grantaire made all his paintings, where his mind and soul worked as one, where all he saw was put in images. It was sacred and silent, and it was beautiful.

Even though she didn't know much about art, she did notice the lack of portraits in the room; all the paintings were of trees and flowers and the way the sun lit up an alley at the breaking of dawn, but there were no people and that surprised Azelma – wasn't that what artists did, paint people?

"Like what you see?" Grantaire asked, standing in the doorway, that typical half smirk on his face that Azelma came to like the past few days. He would probably have smile lines one day – how strange that was for a person that behind his winks and laughs, always seemed deeply sad. Grantaire always smiled and always joked, but it didn't feel very honest, Azelma realized; anyone that looked him in the eyes could tell that his happiness wasn't quite genuine.

_Well_, she mused, _I guess you're either happy or an artist – you can't be both._

"You're amazingly talented." She stated quietly, pointing at the paintings. Grantaire sighed.

"It's a hobby. I wouldn't recommend selling them online illegally because they're not worth a damn. If you're thinking about making money, I will kindly show you to the national gallery to pick up a painting and run – actually, that sounds awesome," he whispered fervently, his eyes glowing, "I'm gonna get dressed and then let's go steal a painting – let's go kill a dude!"

"Are you high?" Azelma snorted.

"Unfortunately I am not." He smiled. "This is just the natural enthusiasm I hold for life."

"Right." She nodded, suddenly not knowing how to respond. "But these are really amazing. I have, however, noticed something about the paintings."

"Is it the Da Vinci code? Because I'll warn you, many have tried to crack it in this very room."

"Funny. No – it's that you don't paint people."

"Very well spotted. You really are the brightest witch of your age."

"Why is that?" Azelma asked, ignoring his comment. Grantaire sighed helplessly and just threw his hands in the air.

"Who am I supposed to paint?"

Azelma shrugged.

"People you love."

"What you need to understand about me is that I'm a deeply unhappy person." He started, his tone lacking any humor now, and Azelma's eyes widened in shock. "I – I have no faith in the world and I desire to forget life. I'm drunk practically all the time, I am a very hard person to bear, you can ask Enjolras, he will tell you all about it, and the thing is, Azelma, that I _dislike_ people. I think they are rotten, terrible creatures and their doom is their vanity. I walk down the street and see all these posters and commercials of skinny, fake girls and they are so untrue it _hurts_ me."

He paused then, licking his lips and frowning, seemingly thinking about what to say next with great care.

"I don't paint people – what is a person, anyway? A body, a hair color, a clothing size? A body fades away, it shrinks and disappears and someone else comes to its place and the person inside is still the same, you know? So no, I don't paint people because I don't believe in material existence." Grantaire swallowed and let out a silent, breathy laugh, his eyes shining as though he just came to a realization. "You see, my mother is very religious – it's ironic, really, because my sister is a drug addict, my father is the owner of some huge company and my mother goes to church all the time. It's like an after school special. Anyway, she used to tell me stories when I went to bed, stories about how our souls are immortal or something? I'm not sure, it was a very long time ago, but the point is that there was this guy, Jesus, and he sacrificed himself for the whole of humanity so he could save our souls for God. I think that was a very brave thing of him to do, I sure as hell would never be brave enough for that – I'm not even good enough of a person to call my best friend even when it's clear something bad has happened to her and I haven't heard from her for days. But then again, she didn't tell me that something was up so maybe she doesn't want me to know, I don't know. I just – it's a nice thing to believe, right? The immortal soul. And no matter that Enjolras says that I don't believe or care for anything or that Éponine says I care but don't know how to show it, the immortal soul is the one fucking thing I believe in and nobody can take that away from me."

When he finished, Grantaire lifted his gaze from a painting of his that he had been staring at, and his eyes widened as the replayed his words in his head.

Azelma was quite taken aback by the speech Grantaire gave her; the man seemed so honest, so brutally honest it took her breath away, and there was an ancient glow about him as he spoke, never raising his voice, always low and soft, a glow that burned in him and what made Azelma think that he was one of the colorful shapes from his water lily painting. Grantaire was a rare, unspeakable color that stayed hidden most of the time but shone ever so brightly when he came to light.

He cleared his throat, frowning.

"I don't know why I just told you that." He admitted, sounding confused and embarrassed. "I'm sorry. Did I overshare?"

"No." She assured him once she could form words again. "It's just that I'm not used to it."

"What?"

"Honesty." She said. "People don't usually tell me stuff."

"I don't usually tell people stuff, either." Grantaire breathed, the frown deepening on his face. "And now it probably seems like I'm the kind of guy that invites strangers to his apartment and tell them of his sorrowful life, but-"

"No," Azelma cut him off, lifting her hand aimlessly, "it's okay. I'm glad you said all that stuff – it was actually a very brave thing to do, I think."

Grantaire blinked and he didn't say anything but he threw his head back and burst out laughing and he almost looked like a child in that moment, his laughter nearly sounding like relief. It wasn't a mean laugh either, in fact it wasn't even loud but it was gentle and fierce at once – very much like Grantaire.

When his laughter died down, Grantaire looked around the room and then at Azelma, the usual amusement returning on his face.

"We should probably head out to the living room where things are less emotional and cheesy." He said, his voice still a bit uneven. "Come – they're taking the Hobbits to Isengard just as we speak."

oOo

When she smiled at him, so dark and sad, Enjolras couldn't help but go to her immediately, sitting on the ground next to her, cupping her face in his hands, just as he knew he would; he had been gravitating toward Éponine his whole life without even realizing it, and ever since she entered his life he had ached, yearned to be around her, to reach out and touch her, to feel the familiarity of her skin against his. Never in his life had he wished for another person's closeness this way, but honestly, he was so past caring about how he used to be and what he used to want. He still wasn't sure what it all meant, how he felt or if it was okay to feel it or not, but for the first time maybe ever, Enjolras thought that maybe it was okay not to understand everything, maybe this was one of those things.

And Éponine leaned into his touch involuntarily, reveling in the way it made her feel; dizzy and deliriously complete and yet empty – it was always like this with Enjolras, this two-sidedness wrapping them when they were close to each other, not letting go, not making it any easier. Éponine was constantly torn when around Enjolras, one part of her desperate to feel the splendid warmth and sensation while the other part of her was screaming from the pain his closeness caused her. He was like a fierce summer storm, surrounding and drowning her; a tempest of agonizing pain with a few raindrops of heaven. Should she take all the pain and uncertainty, all the weakness just to get these sweet moments?

_No_, a firm voice said inside of her and her heart dropped at the realization and suddenly her heart and mind exploded, all her monsters erupting, bursting out in the darkness. What had been building inside of her for days, weeks, maybe months now was right in front of her and she had to deal with it. She looked at him – Enjolras, Gabriel, the boy from her dreams, and she felt her eyes water and her mouth go dry; so beautiful he was, so dear to her, why was he tormenting her so, then? Every single thing about him felt wrong now, surreal, the space between them filled with confusion and despair. He was making her heart ache, he was making her breath go away, he was making her see things – loving things, storms, peaceful places – that weren't actually true. He was making her mad and love was not supposed to do that. Nothing was supposed to do that.

Enjolras was still holding her, caressing her cheeks and he clearly had no idea that Éponine was in flames, a cold and cruel fire burning within her, a newly-found strength – or was it weakness, cowardice holding her back?

She did not know, but all that mattered was that she could see clearly, or so she thought; this was wrong, she realized, all of it, completely wrong. She had been weak – from that moment she first laid eyes on Enjolras and felt like she had a fever, and every time he looked at her or touched her and she felt a tingling feeling on her skin, it was _weakness_. He was making her weak – perhaps she was ill, for what else could cause the dizziness, the headaches, the hallucinations, what else could it be that she was feeling?

She looked at his beautiful, unshaved face, his cheekbones, his defined jawline, his mesmerizing eyes gazing at her tenderly and she just couldn't take it anymore.

Earlier that night, when she ordered Montparnasse to get out of the house, she felt strength unlike anything she had ever experienced, she felt powerful, she felt like _herself_, but here she was now, and only one touch or look from Enjolras could make her tremor once again. She wanted to be Éponine Thénardier once more, the girl who was strong and fearless, who didn't need anyone, who didn't _want_ to need Enjolras.

"I can't be your friend anymore." Éponine whispered; she wasn't sure what made her say it; the fact that his hands made her shiver, or that her mind was full of terrible thoughts or that once again she had to stop herself from leaning in and pressing her lips against his.

Enjolras froze.

"I'm sorry," Éponine said almost inaudibly, "I just – I've had enough. Maybe we shouldn't spend so much time together."

He glanced down and dropped his hands from her face, his expression unreadable. _This is coming out all wrong_, she thought to herself desperately, everything she couldn't say. _You're making me ache, do you not understand? You are a part of me and you're tearing me apart. All the things that are bad for me, my mother, my father, this house, Montparnasse; I could leave them behind to forget, I could shake them off. Why is it impossible to shake you, Enjolras, tell me. I want you, I want you desperately but it hurts too much and I'm not good enough of a person to stand it all. Please tell me that you understand me. That you don't hate me._

But her words unsaid didn't reach Enjolras; he was kneeling on the kitchen floor, looking down at his hands. He was awfully quiet, not the man of fire that he always was, with his words of thunder.

"Enjolras," She breathed desperately. The floor felt colder, the distance between them greater. "You have no idea how hard it has been for me – how I feel. You- knowing you, being your friend, it is so, _so_ hard, Enjolras, and I just- I just cannot take it anymore."

A tear slid down her cheek, her voice cracking at times.

"You are my best friend." She whispered, crying, wiping tears away furiously. "No – you're not even that, you're something else, and – it hurts me, Enjolras. My heart hurts." _I love you so much my heart hurts_ – the sentence whispered by her rang in Éponine's ears and it only made her cry harder. It had to end, she had to make these visions stop, that was the only way she could ever feel light again. "I think I'm going crazy, Enjolras, this- this is too much for me to bear, this is wrong and all your fault and I'm not supposed to feel this way. I- I just want to- want to be normal."

Enjolras' silence was a raging, terrifying one that filled the room. He listened to the weeping girl's words, he watched her cry and pour her soul out and he himself felt torn just the way Éponine did – a part of him wished to take Éponine in his arms and comfort her and tell her that it was all going to be okay, and another part of him was bursting with an ancient, possessed anger. Enjolras couldn't be sure whether he was mad at Éponine or himself, but this anger filled his soul and found its way to his mouth, speaking for him.

_How dare she say all that_, a foreign voice called within him, _how dare she, after being close to me, after kissing me, after I realized that I needed her with me._

Deep down Enjolras was well aware that Éponine was just as afraid and confused as he was, probably even more, and he knew that he had no reason to feel angry at her but he was too far ahead to think rationally right now.

"Do you want to be normal?" He echoed her words, his fervent whispering indicating that he would scream at her if he could. He sounded somewhat desperate as well. "What is normal, Éponine, please tell me, because I really want to know."

"This is actually really funny, 'Ponine, because you said to me just yesterday that I couldn't back out from being your friend and now you are doing exactly the same to me. How can be you be so selfish?" He said cruelly, his dark words making Éponine stare at him with wide eyes. They were both breathing heavily, their faces somehow inches apart. "Do you think this is easy for me, Éponine? That I don't hurt? Do you not realize that I _need_ you, that I need you to help me figure this out – I, I look at you _every single_ day and I don't understand a thing about you!"

On impulse, Enjolras grabbed Éponine by the hand and pinned her down on the floor. All she could sense was the cold dancing through her skin and straight to her bones, chilling them and Enjolras' hot breath against her. She had never seen him so dark, so desperate before, and it was killing her.

"Just tell me one thing," he begged, his voice cracking. "_do I look familiar to you?"_

Éponine tried to form words but she wasn't successful, and he seemed to change his mind before she could get a chance to speak. He quickly stood up and turned away, his breathing unsteady.

"Don't answer that – never mind." He walked to the door and then stopped, still not looking in her direction. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said these things. We don't have to be friends if you don't want to be – God, we don't have to do anything you don't want. I'm going back to Paris in the morning."

His voice was almost emotionless now, in contrast with his earlier passionate words, and Éponine struggled for air, feeling like she was falling. Her body already ached at the lack of contact with Enjolras, his distance piercing her. How stupid she was for thinking it would be better if he was not around.

There was no salvation. It was hell either way.

When she spoke again, she didn't realize that Enjolras was still standing in the doorway, finding himself unable to leave.

"You really are a marble statue," she breathed into the darkness. "and you're crushing me."

**Wow, this one was indeed incredibly difficult to write – please let me know what you think, it would help a lot right now. See you next time and thank you for reading : )**


	18. Poor Ophelia

**A/N: I'd like to thank everyone for the loveliest feedback on the last chapter, it made me all giddy and happy : ) Also, this is kind of a filler chapter, I guess? But it's important. (An important filler. That makes so much sense.) Sorry about the typing mistakes.**

"_Poor Ophelia, divided from herself and her fair judgment, without the which we are pictures, or mere beasts."  
(_Shakespeare: Hamlet: Act 4, Scene 5, Page 4_)_

There was something about the white of dawn that could make you ache in all the strangest places. Enjolras had always been fond of mornings; the songs of birds, the emptiness of the streets, the way the light would burst in through the windows, bathing his room, warming his heart. He had found that he could work best at this time of day, his mind would stay clear and focused, and there was a lightness about his movements he could not quite explain. He just always felt good in his skin in such an early hour.

But this time it was different, so heartbreakingly different Enjolras found it hard to breathe. His mind was filled with violent colors, old, long forgotten colors that screamed and whispered to him, causing his senses to go numb, crawling up his legs, enveloping his heart – it felt like his soul leaked out of his body and floated around him, surrounding him, choking him slowly. He could feel his soul touching his skin and the contact felt so sensitive he wished to cry out in pain. He felt mad.

He could feel the whiteness embracing him, the arms of the sun pulling him closer as he stared out the window, wrapping him in a terrifyingly peaceful place where no sounds could be heard, no shapes were to be seen and he could sense nothing but the fire kissing at his skin, burning its glory into him, marking him. It was delirious, this indescribable feeling, this _flying_ he experienced that morning – he didn't feel like himself.

He was angry and he was bursting, he was terrible and wonderful, he was strong but a horrifying strength he had, one that made him feel like he could be crushed as easily as he could destroy others.

Enjolras wasn't sure how long he stood there, in front of the window, letting the sun bathe him its white light, but of one thing he was sure; he had been alone when he stepped inside the kitchen and now, when he turned around, he found that he had company. Madame Thénardier was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug in her wizened hands, eyeing him strangely. Enjolras didn't know how he should feel toward this woman – this weak creature that was a mother to Éponine, lived with her for years and never spoke up for her to her husband. Should he hate her, despise her, he mused.

Deciding upon one's feelings was quite the task.

"Good morning." He blurted out at last and nothing had ever felt that false, that venomous on his tongue. _A deathly, gray, unbearable morning it was, an existence full of pain_, he wanted to scream at himself. He remained silent, however.

Madame Thénardier frowned, her face looking even older as usual, her eyes cold as ice.

"Are you a friend of my daughter's?" She asked in a low voice and it felt as though speaking was a foreign thing for this woman, as though she had been ordered to only speak when asked. He couldn't help but notice that her voice cracked when she said 'daughter'.

Enjolras searched for words but couldn't find any – therefore he merely nodded, and all the emotions he had been pushing down were suddenly rushing to him, making his heart thump in his chest, his arms and head feel heavy.

A friend to Éponine – this lie felt weighty and it made him feel like a cheat, however it also made a hidden monster revel in his chest – why! he felt triumphant in a guilty way; he could lie to these people and make them think Éponine still belonged to him in a way and that was as close as it could come to the truth. Enjolras gulped, the taste in his mouth sour – she told him just last night that she wanted him to stay away from her for a while. (_Forever.)_

Enjolras was confused enough on his own and he couldn't ever dare imagine what was going on with Éponine – he had been in her house a little more than a day and it still felt like a lifetime ago when he had left Paris, leaving his schoolwork and a concerned Combeferre behind to go right after that intriguing girl that hadn't left his mind for a second to comfort her, to talk to her or just to be around her. The last thirty hours had been the strangest time of his life and he felt angry; it was a vicious and cold anger that was to consume him entirely, anger he felt toward Éponine for – why, exactly? For kissing him and making him feel like the whole world could shatter and the skies could fall and he just wouldn't care, not if it meant that Éponine would stay close, pressed against him, her hands tangled in his hair, her heartbeat against his, her gasps in his mouth-

Enjolras felt an aching in his chest.

His face must have shown a variety of emotions because Madame Thénardier's eyes narrowed; her wary look painfully reminding him of Éponine.

"You hate this house. And loathe me – she told you." The woman murmured and it was never a question. Enjolras wanted to speak up but he found that all he could say was _yes, yes, I hate you, I hate all of you for making her live like that, for making her afraid, for making her want to feel normal_. His stomach turned as he thought of her desperate cries from the night before. _I'm not supposed to feel this way. I- I just want to- want to be normal._  
_It is me she's afraid of,_ he realized, astonished.

"You are only here because of _her_," she continued and looked Enjolras in the eye like her words meant a great deal more than they seemed to.

Enjolras was still unable to form words. He nodded again and Madame Thénardier and he stared at each other for a minute and it looked as though a silent agreement formed between the two of them.

_Yes, yes, I am only here because of her, because I care for her more than anything, more than I'd care to admit_, his eyes said, boring into hers.

"Good." Madame Thénardier replied, her voice cracking again, but her words ever so strong. "She deserves- deserves to be loved the way _I_ could never love her."

_But she doesn't want me to_, Enjolras thought to himself desperately and he wanted to slap himself right away for even thinking that.

He wanted to leave this place, leave this wrecked woman in her grief because he wanted to, leave Éponine because she wanted him to, get out of this crazy, stupid town that compelled him to think and do things he would never, ever do in Paris.

He walked out on Éponine's mother and left the Thénardier house without a word and practically ran to his car, smacking it, kicking it, again and again, vicious, terrible that he was, and selfish, so selfish for thinking about what _he_ wanted and how things affected _him_ and not Éponine. He wanted to rip his vehicle apart, burn it to the ground, hoping it would cut him open, that it would set those monsters, that horrible darkness in him free; he felt so numb, so helpless and unfocused that he would have sworn to God that he could wound himself, deep and good, he ached to see his own blood, to feel it leave his body, God, he would have done _anything_, anything to feel something apart from this devouring anger, anything other than this throbbing pain in the back of his head and heart. He was vaguely aware of the sweet and cool morning air filling his lungs, the blue of the sky framing the world, the sun caressing the earth with its light, the cheerful sound of birds singing and he wanted to fly away, away away away.

Then suddenly it stopped and the ringing in his ears ceased. Enjolras straightened up and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and wincing as he felt a stinging pain in his hands. He got into his car and gasped incredulously when he realized something rather worrying.

He had no idea how to drive it.

oOo

"I think Marius and Cosette's cat is deaf." Joly announced solemnly and that statement made Combeferre choke on his milk.

"_What?" _He coughed. "What makes you think that?"

"I examined him and drew the conclusion that he doesn't respond properly to my calls." Joly explain, nodding.

Combeferre lifted an eyebrow.

"When did this happen?"

"At about 3 o'clock in the morning."

"And what were you doing awake at 3, if I might ask?" Combeferre inquired, rolling his eyes.

"I was looking for medication to reduce the swelling of my tongue. You see, I awoke with an unusually dry throat and-"

"Joly." Combeferre said gently, cutting him off. Joly looked at him with a resigned expression.

"What?"

"You're a medical student, not a vet." He said, giving his friend a knowing look. Joly sighed.

"You're right of course." He replied, then looked at his forearm, frowning. "It was a bad idea anyway, I think I'm having an allergic reaction…"

Combeferre chuckled and rose from the table to stretch. It was a beautiful morning, the sunshine making Grantaire's messy apartment much cozier than it normally was; his coffee table covered with last night's Chinese take-out, boxes and chopsticks pressing against each other, creating an abstract shape. Combeferre was amazed to find that whatever surrounded Grantaire _became_ art, in a glorious way – never in his life had he met the likeness of that dark haired man with the sarcastic smile who could do everything with such grace, who had ways to make loneliness seem beautiful, leaking emptiness mesmerizing. His life was grey to those who were blind to his colors, who could not understand the way he could paint over the sadness with a violent purple and make it all _mean_ something-

Combeferre was amazed by his art. He admired all of his friends, but with Grantaire it was quite different; not even because he was his best friend or anything, they were never even that close in the first place, but if it came down to naming one of Les Amis his _favorite _friend – which was a stupid thing only fourth graders did -, he would've probably picked Grantaire.

God, he wasn't making any sense – he was no man of big words but there was one thing he was absolutely certain of; the way the shivering light touched Grantaire's skin in the morning made him look like as though he was _glowing_.

Everyone always thought that it was Enjolras who possessed a heavenly light, he had heard Grantaire speaking of their friend using biblical terms such as 'angry angel'; Grantaire was rather fond of glorifying the blond man in an almost worrying manner. He would talk about Enjolras floating above the ground and himself, the fallible mortal, reaching for him, but Combeferre could never understand why he saw himself that way. He had always thought that Grantaire himself could've easily been equal to Enjolras and he had secretly thought that since the day he met him.

It happened a little over two years before, the summer before freshman year when Combeferre stumbled upon Grantaire and Enjolras for the first time, still a little dazed by the realization that his lungs were filled with the same air as all those wonderful writers throughout the years, that all he had to do was go on a walk and he could see the freaking Eiffel tower, and that he was in _Paris_, after all those years of wishing to live there. He didn't really have friends and, naturally, he spent his first Friday night in the library, in the company of the refreshing sounds of pages turning, and people burrowed in their little world as they read on and on with a frown on their faces while the scent of old and almost-forgotten books wrapped the room in its silence.

Combeferre loved that when he was reading he barely acknowledged the outside world. He was a very focused reader and there was hardly a thing that could break him out of the world of stories, but a couple fighting passionately and not-so-subtly was certainly one of them.

He raised his head, annoyed with the rather loud row to find – not only a boy and a girl throwing insults at each other's heads, but a boy sitting in the armchair next to his. He had hair as black as night, an unshaved face, a bottle in his hand and an amused expression as he followed Combeferre's gaze. When he glanced at him, the boy sighed and nodded in the couple's direction sympathetically.

"These petty souls," he said as lightly as though he was talking about the weather, "they love the way they're supposed to hate."

Combeferre was so very stunned by the poetic words spoken by the boy that his fell open a little. The boy chuckled and looked away.

"It's Combeferre," he finally blurted out, sounding a bit dumb. The boy looked up to him, confused.

"What is?" He asked as he opened the bottle he had been holding.

"My name is." Combeferre explained. "I'm Combeferre."

"Oh," the boy nodded. "I'm Grantaire."

"Is that water?"

A wicked smile appeared on Grantaire's face as he lifted the bottle to his mouth.

"Almost."

Combeferre formed a silent 'oh' in acknowledgement when he smelled the alcohol. He was about to lose himself in his book again when his attention was caught by another boy, tall and muscular but lean, his golden hair shining in the well-lit library, walking up to the fighting couple, making the impression of an angel with vengeance.

"I've had enough." The blond muttered before he glared at the pair. "It's not that I don't enjoy listening to your little conversation – oh, wait. I was wrong; it _is_ that I don't enjoy listening to you. What sort of inhuman beasts are you? This is a library, so GET OUT. OR SHUT UP."

"Is that your friend?" Combeferre inquired, slightly shocked. Grantaire smirked, amused.

"Nah. Never seen him in my life."

Combeferre shuddered when a loud snore broke him out of his reverie. He turned his face to see that Marius and Courfeyrac were lying on the floor, snoring into their pillows and that under a great pile of pillows slept – presumably – Gavroche.

Combeferre wasn't sure why they all decided to crash at Grantaire's place but he knew that the man didn't mind; he was the Jay Gatsby of Paris, you didn't need an invitation, you were welcome to stay as long as you didn't mind his drinking and didn't bother him while he was painting.

oOo

Time was a very curious thing, a thing that no man could touch or even begin to understand – it had the ability to broaden or shrink, it could fly and it could run out, and it could be killed, but one thing was sure – it would always pass. Sometimes Combeferre found himself staring at his watch and comprehended that the minute hand stayed still – but when Les Amis were around, time flew at a crazy and mesmerizing speed, bursting with colors and never looking back.

Once they managed to wake the rest of them up, Joly fed Gavroche and Marius (who was not a morning person and could use all the help he could get), Grantaire made coffee for them all. Just as Combeferre was about to help Gavroche with his homework, Courfeyrac practically ran into the room and smacked the drawing Grantaire on the back.

"Come on, you know you want to!" He cried.

"Can't." Grantaire replied, not looking up from his sketchbook.

"Whyyy?"

"I'm working on something new."

"You know, sometimes you act like you're fucking Picasso and not an art student."

"You see, Picasso was an art student once," Grantaire murmured, drawing violently, seemingly not paying attention. "he studied art briefly in Madrid in 1897, then in Barcelona in 1899-"

"Oh, his head is filled with useless information." Courfeyrac scoffed. "Come on, Grantaire, just play _one_ game with us!"

"You don't think painting takes some game?" Grantaire murmured absent-mindedly.

"You got game?"

"Are you guys reenacting that scene from High School Musical because I think it's too early in the morning for that." Combeferre joined in, rolling his eyes.

Courf gave him a look.

"It's 11."

"My point exactly."

"Combeferre-"

"Everybody shut up!" Joly cried, waving with his hands desperately. Silence hit the room and chilled it as though all air had been sucked out of it, everyone stared at Joly, whose eyes were on his ringing phone he had placed on Grantaire's coffee table.

"You do know what that demonic device is for, right?" Combeferre asked, lifting his eyebrows. Joly snorted.

"Of course I do! But what do I do with it?"

"Pick it up?" Gavroche suggested, frowning.

"But who could it be? The only people who have my number are you guys and my mum! And I just talked to her." Joly shrieked, clearly puzzled. Courfeyrac couldn't quite believe his ears.

"Joly, come on, answer it." He urged his friend, seemingly without any success, Joly just wouldn't answer the damn phone.

"Oh, please!" He called and grabbed the phone, lifting it to his ear. He answered it with a grin.

"Oh, hey, Chief!" He said, but the smile almost immediately vanished from his face, his expression turning dead serious, his eyes clouded. He didn't say anything for a minute, clearly listening to what Enjolras was saying, then he nodded. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

Combeferre frowned. "What's wrong?"

"It was Enjolras," Courfeyrac stated, his voice uneven and soft, "he needs us to pick him up."

"But doesn't he have his car with him?" Joly said. Courfeyrac nodded.

"He does, but-" he trailed off, making an incredulous face, "he said that he can't drive it?"

"What?" Combeferre begged.

"Is he injured?"

"He didn't say." Courfeyrac blurted. "I'm gonna go get him."

"I'll go with you." Combeferre nodded, then glanced at Grantaire. "Are you coming?"

"I can't." Grantaire breathed, his faces as pale as a sheet. "I'm working on something.

Combeferre gave him a dark look, a look that said how he couldn't believe painting was more important than their best friend, how the person Grantaire most depended on might have been hurt and he didn't drop everything to go and see him, how his face didn't seem to soften at the mention of Enjolras, what is it with you, my friend, _what is it that I can't put my finger on, what is it that makes you a hard man to know, your bursting colors, your dishonest laughter, that little line between your eyebrows when you paint_ - but Grantaire only stared back at him blankly. Combeferre sighed.

"Alright then." He whispered, then looked at Courfeyrac. "Let's go."

oOo

The door closed behind them and Grantaire was once again on his own, wrapped up in his little world – after all, only Courfeyrac and Combeferre had gone to fetch Enjolras and Grantaire just had to send Joly and the others away because he wanted, ached to be left alone after everything had been turned upside down. He didn't want to see Enjolras, he didn't want to help him, he didn't want to care – he felt selfish and that was good because that's who he was; selfish and mean and useless and a bad person, for not being brave enough to be a good friend to Éponine, for not being kind enough to face Enjolras and help him when he needed it.

He was painting as though he was drowning in an ocean, desperate to come to the surface, to catch even the slightest breath of air, of _life, _of _clarity_ – if only he could paint over his doubts like he did this canvas, if only he could bury the holes in his life with colors, masking them-

_Are you in love with him?_

That was what Azelma asked him the previous night, her eyes wide open and full of questions and wonder; she was such a pure girl, so honest she didn't even think about whether or not it was right to ask someone that after knowing them after only a couple of days – if it was right to ask anyone that ever.

_Some people believe in truth_, Grantaire mused in the silence between his heartbeat, as he watched, bewitched, as the brush and the canvas met, a mute strike of things being born. _Most people do – but I have lost that part of me long ago._

He knew that people were false and lazy; they never cared for anything other than themselves, they never wanted anything other than what would made them happy, they were small and blind and horrible and there was no soul who would tell the truth if it had meant their end.

But there were people like Enjolras, so bright and true and dedicated – quite like angels on this wretched earth, seeking truth and justice and there were ones like Grantaire, self-destructive and tiny, so, so tiny they could be crushed by only a mere look from an angel-

His heart was beating violently, a tempest hiding in his chest.

_Be serious_, Enjolras told him once – _I am wild_, he replied then, wild as the wind that tore the land, wild as a lightning that broke the sky in two, wild as the human heart that never ever stopped, wild as water running in the high mountains, wild as the breath of a running child, wild as heaven, wild as hell.

His breathing was heavy and uneven, and as he leaned back to look at his painting, his eyes widened – the canvas was now covered in black paint, bleak blackness leaking to the floor, swallowing it all, with one word written over it in red; _yes._

Around Grantaire, as Combeferre had said, everything, even his bitter words, _became art._

**Well, this wasn't a very good chapter, was it? I'm sorry for the disappointment.  
Anyway, I'm going on vacation again on Sunday for 10 days and I'm not sure if I will be able to update from there, but we'll see. You have been informed. Thanks for reading! : )**


	19. Shattering Skies

**A/N: I am back! Yay : ) Thank you all for the lovely feedback, you guys are the greatest.  
Once again, this chapter is dedicated to Crazy Cherries, because she is just pure awesomeness.**

Cosette looked at the purplish pile on the couch freckled by the lazy sun, and felt blood sweetly fill her mouth – she must have bitten her lip in concern without even realizing it. She couldn't help but relish in the bitter taste; there were just these significant moments when you knew something should be happening and right now, the taste of blood simply felt _right. _

Frankly, she didn't know what else to do other than just sit on the ground and bleed, and she hadn't known since the moment Éponine knocked on the apartment door, pleading to Cosette to let her in then hugging her tight when she did, holding onto Cosette as though she was air. She remembered hugging Éponine back and feeling a strange sting in her chest that felt a lot like relief and helplessness - the kind of helplessness you get from a long awaited touch, the contact of familiar, warm skin that can both encourage and numb you. She had known the feeling of Éponine's closeness ever since they were children - the way they held hands when they crossed the street, the way her friend used her as a pillow, or the feeling of her elbow hitting her ribs when she said something that pissed Éponine off.

She had come to know her as a whole well enough to linger on the details building her, shaping her – that was how she knew at once that something was terribly wrong with Éponine, a brokenness in her movements and the way she held her head and Cosette somehow felt afraid to ask.

So instead, to make up for her momentary uselessness, she tried to toss the remains of her apple in the bin, and without success, she realized, as the apple reached the living room window instead and made the curtains tear and come rushing down to the floor, making an ungodly sound and having all the light burst in and bathe everything, revealing the tiny corners of darkness. Cosette swore under her breath and the pile of blankets that previously had Éponine under it now moved, and eyes stared back at Cosette, eyes filled with rue and resignation and now, thanks to Cosette's terrible aim, alarm.

"What was that?" Éponine breathed.

"Nothing," Cosette assured her friend, her voice a bit husky, "it's just that I throw like a girl."

Éponine nodded and sank back between the pillows, her sorrow clearly not stopped by Cosette's clumsiness – and the blonde felt numb, as though all her muscles have been poisoned by her friend's current state; a slow, yet deadly venom it was to see Éponine so wrapped up in her sadness, so much that she was becoming nothing but painful, raw emotion, shoulders down and shaking from suppressed cries, eyes like never-ending dark hollows and Cosette wanted to cringe for the old Éponine, _her_ Éponine would have replied with something cheeky, but this _shadow_ remained silent.

There is nothing worse than other people's sadness, Cosette thought to herself, not even the sadness of your own can break you like your loved ones' can. Seeing someone drown themselves in their helplessness, seeing them bend a little more as each day passes wounds you in such a strange way – you can find no scar but still there is a difference within you as you know there is one in them and oh, what a difference that is, the kind that chokes you on the inside, turns the color of your sky gray.

Your own sadness, however, somehow belongs to you… you learn to live with it – it is sometimes even nice to sit by and let your heart be with its familiar ache, watch sunset you do not care for, and silently leave this world; it kills you but it is a part of you that you cannot ever leave behind and that somehow makes it all better. But watching someone dear to you grow paler by the day, drift away from all their friends and from you, that can make you want to crawl out of your skin, that can make you feel such emptiness in the night that nothing can compare to. Laying next to someone and feel them leave you and take pieces of yourself with them – that is real agony.

She had seen this happen to her aunt after her mother's death – and she could not let this happen to Éponine as well. Cosette might have seemed like a girl full of sunshine and happiness but she sure as hell _knew_ grief, knew the vicious things it was capable of, crawling under your skin and getting close to your heart. The sensation of nightmares you didn't talk about and silent screaming no one else could here – oh, yes, Cosette knew all that, because she felt it.

"Do you think I'm crazy, Cosette?" Éponine finally asked after a long period of aching silence and Cosette's head snapped in her direction, eyes wide in shock.

"No – no, of course not!" She assured her friend in a nearly inaudible, feverish whisper, grey eyes searching for the brown ones. "Why would you think that?"

Éponine sat up on the bed, licking her lips and wipe her dark hair from her face, letting it fall carelessly on her shoulders. As her eyes met Cosette's gaze the blonde was taken aback by the shadows in them; dark, harmful things releasing such shyness and uncertainty and pain in Éponine that could shatter worlds.

"I-" She started off, choking on words yet unsaid, voice shaking as though she was speaking her deepest and darkest of secrets, "I've been seeing things – things that aren't really there."

Cosette blinked.

"Do you see your father?"

"Sometimes." Éponine whispered, tearing her gaze from Cosette, blushing – well, she did see her father in some of her visions, she thought to herself, so this wasn't entirely untrue. There was a throbbing pain in her head, blacking her shadow and clouding her eyes like the rain, as the shivering pain made its way to her very heart. She didn't know why but she could feel the blackness of her heartbeat and that hidden place in it where a dark flower had been blossoming in secret – whispering all the things that had happened in her visions, all the burning kisses Enjolras had given her, all the soft beatings she had gotten from her father. "And he- he does bad things to me, and-"

"Éponine." Cosette called her name softly but firmly, grabbing her by the hand. "You shouldn't think of him like that, all the bad things he did, it will only poison your grief, and- you should focus on the happy things that you had with him, that's how you should remember him-!"

"That's just it!" Éponine cried, the desperation in her voice sending chills to Cosette's bones. She'd had enough of all this; she didn't want to be with Enjolras to be hurt, she didn't come _here_ to be _lectured. _"I don't want to remember him, I don't want to feel the need – I want him to be here and remind me every single day what a sick and terrible person he is!"

She was gasping for air and she rose from the couch in haste, making Cosette jump. God, this was all too much – she was stupid to mention the visions to Cosette in the first place, what was she thinking, she wouldn't understand, nobody could, what she was going through, what glorious screams rang in her ears each time she would think of Enjolras, how a strange mix of red fabric, the sound of sweet rain and a smoke so choking would fill her mind – how nothing made sense.

"Why am I even telling you this – I'm so, so stupid, Cosette, for even mentioning it, because you _cannot understand_-"

"Please don't." Cosette cut her off, her voice almost as broken as Éponine's, although there was still a sweetness to it that she managed to weave into her words; like silk brushing against skin. "Please don't shut me out like this and tell me that I can't understand – I want to understand, 'Ponine. You are my best friend in the whole world and it's killing me that there is something wrong and I'm unable to help."

Éponine froze and suddenly, silence filled the room just the way water fills the sinking ship, bursting in and cutting the way of all sounds and screams and half-glances until nothing but your heavy breathing and the faint beating of your heart. She stared at Cosette and let her arms drop to her sides.

For the first time in a long time, Éponine's head felt clear. All of sudden, the threads that had been tangled within the ticking clock of her crazed mind unraveled and she found that she could tell them apart, all things – and all she could focus on what the undeniable, aching pain in her chest. _Maybe I'm not sad because of Enjolras_, she hoped, _maybe it's what happened to my Dad_. Maybe she didn't have to think about him if she didn't want to. Maybe she would be fine.

Maybe.

But now she most certainly was not fine; she was shaking, trembling in the thorns of dark roses that held her captive, the scars that she could not mend made her shiver. She collapsed next to Cosette and wept true, desperate, human tears and the blonde held her close as she told her everything – everything that had happened ever since Enjolras came to her life, all the warmness and confusion and the blue eyes that could cut deeper than a blade, the sensation of their kiss, and Enjolras's anger, that shot of pain when she thought about her father. She didn't leave any holes in the story, and once the picture was done and bursting with her colors, Éponine stood back to stare at it along with Cosette.

She gazed at Éponine and her eyes were filled with the brunette and for once, she could see herself clearly in Cosette's eyes.

"What are you going to do?" Cosette asked as a tear slid down her cheek.

Éponine's mouth went dry. _What will I do, really – I shall do nothing; I will breathe and cry and hurt and bear the hole I feel within when he comes up, I will wake up each day and feel like I need help to lift my head, I will stare into the void of the corners of my heart when I am left alone and I will love, love, love._ _But at least I won't go crazy this way._

"I will live, I guess." She whispered, shrugging. "Try not to think about it."

Cosette raised an eyebrow, questions in her eyes.

"Will that work?"

"God, I don't know." Éponine cried, both laughing and crying. "I think that sometimes the not thinking about it is all we have got left."

Cosette closed her eyes and nodded, letting one piece of this impossible world fill her lungs, breathing it in.

oOo

His fingers were still covered in red and black paint, barely dried, and his mind filled with sweet wing beat of birds when she came to him, almost two hours after her talk with Cosette. As she stood in the elevator she felt uncertain and utterly sure all at once, as she couldn't help this natural familiarity that visiting Grantaire made her feel – the cracks in the walls, the green of the stairway, the sound of the ancient elevator, the laughter of the children next door; they reminded her of soft places, of sweet white and of dear tunes you could not hum along to. It felt an awful lot like coming home.

She herself was between strange places, where you couldn't tell contentment and agony apart, where tears filled one eye and smiles the other – but it was probably better this way, for she would scream if she had to see the truth uncovered.

The shaking and the uncontrollable crying had passed long ago, under that secret purple blanket at Cosette's place, where no one could hear , where no one could hurt, but there was still an ache to it all, to the movements of the world and the sighs of strangers that would probably never lift from her soul, she knew that. But she was also aware that it was her decision, all her burden; she was the one not strong enough to bear the glowing feeling that was Enjolras, she was the one not brave enough to carry them both.

She _didn't_ want the madness.

She _wanted_ the madness.

God, it was all just words, she realized, all of it in her mind, words touching and killing and building universes, shattering skies. It was all that was left for people – the words that weren't enough but still they craved them like madmen, stepping on each other's feet, hollering and weeping, _tell me, tell me, tell me_. Mothers whispered to their children in the night, politicians spoke of a new better world, boys told girls they loved them, and priests said amen to prayers, and you could swear those words could heal. You could swear they could kill.

Everyone blindly wandered among words, grabbing at them, and Éponine just stood there and stared.

He stood in his work room when she entered the apartment, obviously had been painting judging by that choking smell Éponine was so fond of. It smelled like hope and bitterness and creation. It smelled like Grantaire.

She hugged him from behind and he tensed up at first but as soon as he recognized her - warm, tiny hands, a bit ragged, - he turned around and gave her a real embrace, one that lets you breathe the other in and come to know all their features, all their mistakes, heartbeats against heartbeats, a steady rhythm filling the holes, _oh how I've missed you, stranger, you who make me feel like I'm home, I am somebody I recognize when I'm around you._

"I love you." She whispered into his chest because it was truth and it was relief and because those were not tears in her eyes but water running from a fountain that you had been looking for for a long time, dying from thirst. Saying true things felt like singing, for once.

"I love you, too," Grantaire breathed back, a bit stunned, because he was terrible and selfish and God in heaven, he just _needed to say it_ to someone and of course he _did_ love that kid, that great soul ever so dearly and it was not fair that one could speak of emotions in such a simple way. It was not fair that you could just love people.

They stood there for a long time, holding onto each other, never letting go; a mass of hair and fingers and arms around the other, body and body, soul and soul, all the same. And it did not matter that she was confused and heartbroken and afraid or that he was angry at himself and the world and at certain blond angels and that he was shivering on the inside, because they were Éponine and Grantaire, and sometimes friendship just worked that way. It could lighten you in the darkest moments down the road.

There were blue and green and pretty things outside in the sky, clouds passing by, seeing and knowing everything but remaining silent, and Éponine told Grantaire of the strange workings of Montfermeil, how all things seemed different there for a minute, how it seemed like a place where you could just kiss someone when you really, really wished to, how it was dark, dark, dark.

And Grantaire listened, all paint and dark, sympathetic eyes and beauty, frowning and sighing at certain points of the story, pretending that his heart didn't sink when she mentioned the kiss – but somehow she seemed to sense it anyway for she stuttered and blushed, clearly embarrassed, but whether it was the strength of the memory or the fact that it was Grantaire she had to share it with was anybody's guess. Clouds were gathering above him and Grantaire was his own world.

A lot of things crossed his mind; pity that he couldn't help but feel for Éponine and sorrow that he shared with her, the urge to reach out and hold that kid's hand and never let her get out of his sight. But there was also a grayness storming through him, one he desired to forget and paint all over, one that let him see his demon – his heart.

Éponine stared at him as he battled with himself and started naming each part of him, feeling the need to have words to describe him with, craving them; being the underling she was. _Soft, messy hair_, a voice within her sang, _dark like my favorite kind of coffee. Kind eyes_, she decided, _forever gleaming with amusement and a flicker of pain. A beautiful and peaceful void you can gaze into if you yearn for answers. He thinks himself so wicked but he is all goodness. All goodness._

_Just what I need._

Grantaire licked his lips and looked up to Éponine, breaking her out of her reverie.

"I am so very, deeply sorry." His words came out as a whisper and Éponine smiled a fairly hidden smile, fogged by her aching. _Do not think of him, _she urged herself_, do not let your mind leave this room; there is nothing but this moment, there is nothing between the lines._

She smiled because when Grantaire said these overused words, they actually meant something.

(_Crave them, my words, my soul. Take them, for they are tearing me apart. Live on them. Live in them.)_

They remained silent for a while and it was a beautiful, satisfying one, that could wrap you, feed you, hide you. They shifted into their well-known pace, watching terrible movies on the television, with her resting her legs in his lap and him petting her skin, hoping that if they stayed close to each other they would eventually fly into a world where Éponine wouldn't think and Grantaire wouldn't feel, and it would be okay.

"How do you know you're really grieving somebody?" Éponine asked after what felt like hours of not speaking, her voice throaty, relaxed but still anxious. Afraid of not doing this right. Afraid of not knowing who to grieve.

And, strangely, Grantaire had an answer prepared, just for her. Just for them.

"All the sad love songs start to feel like they're about death."

("What does this one word mean?" Éponine asked, pointing at his painting. "'_Yes_'?"  
"That means I'm screwed," Grantaire replied lightly.")

oOo

_It's going to rain_, Courfeyrac thought to himself as he looked up to the sky, black and purple and like one of those sad colors at Grantaire's apartment and chuckled. He ran his fingers through his hair that was sticking out from all the frustration, all the not understanding. It would seem fit for it to rain just now, when there was a man in his car made of light and thunder, staying as still and silent as he had never seen him. Sometimes the weather just knew what to do.

_Urge him to speak_, Courfeyrac murmured to the oncoming storm. _Urge him to scream._

He and Combeferre had gotten to Montfermeil, this strange little town where Éponine and Cosette were from over an hour ago, and they still couldn't get Enjolras to tell them what happened, why he needed them to pick him up – in fact, he hadn't said one word to them and honestly, it was scaring the shit out of Courfeyrac.

An Enjolras who had no words, he mused, must be like Jesus without God on his side, intriguing but not captivating, striving to be strong but staying weak. A half-angel; not here, not there, between worlds unknown and God, this ridiculous situation was turning him into a fucking poet.

Jehan would be _so_ proud.

"Maybe he's in shock," Joly suggested on the phone, and he glanced at Enjolras, his chief, his friend, sitting right there in the back seat of his own car but seeming so very far away, and Courfeyrac felt a knot in his throat. "Have you tried pouring water on him?"

"He's not a plant, Joly." Courf snapped at his friend, then he let out a tortured sigh. "But yes, we have tried practically everything and he barely acknowledges our existence. He's doing nothing – well, that's not true, he's biting his lower lip rather violently. I'm kinda worried he's gonna bleed out, man. I'm actually considering punching him in the face."

"Please don't punch him in the face."

"Why? _He has_ punched me once."

"You literally asked for it, idiot."

"Fair enough." He gave in.

"Well, he has to speak eventually," Joly stated after a minute of silent thinking, clearly not knowing what to do, "it's Enjolras we're talking about here. Try to piss him off or something."

"I can do that without trying." Courfeyrac deadpanned. "Hasn't worked so far."

"Then just talk to him – but don't ask him about what happened, speak about girls or beer or, I don't know, just keep talking."

"Okay," Courf said, nodding. "I'm just really worried about him, man – he sounded so unsteady on the phone."

"I have to say that it's nice to know that you can feel that way about another person."

Courf rolled his eyes.

"He's my friend, Joly. I know I'm an idiot but I do care about my friends, thank you very much."

"I know." Joly said softly. "I'm worried, too – but I have to go now, it's almost six and I have to take my medication. See you guys tonight. You'll be on a date, right?"

"I called it off." Courfeyrac admitted, rubbing his forehead.

"You _canceled your date_?" Joly cried, shocked. Well, he was right to, after all, Courfeyrac never canceled dates. Not ever.

"If you saw him, you would understand." He explained, and Joly murmured something back he didn't quite catch, then hung up.

Courfeyrac sighed and walked back to the car, back to Combeferre and Enjolras, back to uneasiness and concern. His friend gave him a lingering look and for a moment they understood each other well with Combeferre, _he won't speak, he won't look at me, whatever I say just doesn't work, what are we gonna do, Courf, what is going to happen – will skies fall and people scream and will Enjolras (or this devastated mess left of him) find his words?_

"So," Courfeyrac said, trying to sound as casual as possible, "there's this movie on TV tonight; a lot of explosions and dialogues that make no sense whatsoever, you guys will both hate it. I was thinking of watching it and crying."

How stupid was this, to say all these words when what he really meant was _what's wrong, Enjolras, why won't you speak, did you have a heart attack, did someone die, what is even happening?!_

And to the surprise of both Courfeyrac and Combeferre, Enjolras actually looked up at them, the storm that had not yet arrived to the city already raging in his blue eyes, roaming and destroying, taking what it wants.

"We can't," Enjolras said, his voice hoarse from his previous silence, but still somehow thoughtfully casual in its solemnity, as though he had only been thinking for a couple of minutes, "because we are going to start a revolution."


	20. Sweet Sweet Light

**A/N: Thank you for the lovely feedback, everyone! I love you all : ) 20 chapters, I can't believe I've got so far, oh my God! This is a prelude to all the things that are going to come at you in the future; in this chapter, things happen. And you know, stuff. IMPORTANT stuff.**

Sometimes there were wishes. Quiet things, crawling on to her bones, things she couldn't even admit to herself; a yearning for touch on her skin, a pair of blue eyes boring into her brown ones, big, warm hands reaching out to touch her and a face always so serious softening because _she_ was there-

Sometimes, in the night, there were wishes; whispers that could destroy and stretch and change and recreate the sensation that if she didn't blink and never moved again then time would stand still and things couldn't possibly go wrong. Or any worse, at least.

Sometimes there were screams that never left her mouth and the days then weeks passed, flying away as gracefully as a bluebird one moment and crashing through the fabric of the world the next, leaving her stand there and stare, all wide eyes and unsteady breathing and a blackness below her skin made of precious words Éponine would sometimes murmur as a mantra, _I love you so much my heart hurts._

Darkness came each night and killed her softly only to be remade by the sunlight in the morning.

But she was okay.  
(_That's what they all said.)_

But somehow it was _true_ for truth was an ever blossoming flower wrapping this wretched earth in its graciousness, taking root in the back of every room and every sigh. She was okay, she was fine, she was happy – she would wake up in the morning and feel almost_ light_, as though a sweet breeze would be enough to make her fly fly fly away. She would go to her classes and take notes and nod at every word of the professors, she would drink a lot of coffee and relish in the taste the drink left in her mouth, she would spend every waking moment with Cosette and Grantaire; laughter and gentle hands and bright eyes. They wouldn't mention it and Éponine wouldn't think about it because there was _nothing_ to think about; there was no ache when she caught sight of blond curls on campus, there was no trembling when she heard a rich voice oh so familiar and there was no struggle for breath when she entered the café and he was just right there, beautiful beautiful beautiful boy, tall and lean and delicate, standing with his back to her or sitting at _her_ table with Les Amis, his glorious blue eyes clouded from her to see and she just wanted, yearned to run to him and wrap her arms around him and hold him close the way he did on that night in Montfermeil and whisper to him that she _loved_ him _I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I am weak I am nothing please be my something again._

But she didn't, she just walked up to the counter and smiled at Musichetta instead, that lovely girl who gave her a sympathetic smile and offered her a drink on the house. Éponine didn't do anything to ease the tension between Enjolras and her; she just stood there with feverish roses on her cheeks and smiled the smile of the weaklings.

And she was glad of it.

Sometimes some of Les Amis joined her at the counter, patting her on the shoulder, greeting her with an easy smile and chatting about nothings; about books with Combeferre, TV shows with Courfeyrac, poetry with Jehan and the worrying state of higher education with Joly and it was nice but it was all pretending because Enjolras wouldn't even acknowledge her anymore and Grantaire almost never bothered to go to Musain these days and she was alone.

(It was all her fault.)

"I want to paint you." Grantaire told her one afternoon when she got out of class, his hands shaking slightly and his dark hair a glowing mess in the lazy sunlight. He had probably been drinking again, Éponine realized but frankly, she could understand; if she could drink, if alcohol hadn't made everything worse, she would probably drink too. As he stood there, biting his lip until it bled and eyeing her almost anxiously, Éponine couldn't help but feel her heart grow twice its size at the mere sight of him. Grantaire had been such a dear friend to her some days it felt like they were the same person.

_All goodness._

"I thought you didn't do portraits." She said, keeping her tone as casual as possible – that was all she did lately.

"No, I don't want paint your face, I couldn't give a rat's ass about your face-"

"Thanks," she deadpanned and Grantaire laughed under his breath, giving her one of his wicked smiles that she was so fond of.

"No – I mean, ugh. I want to paint what you are, what you mean to me, I guess? Like that I think about piles of old books, birds that cannot fly with a lot of gold and orange sunshine in the background when I think of you. That you make me feel better about myself. Sort of. Kind of." He stuttered and blushed suddenly and Éponine smiled at him, trying really hard to not cry.

She'd heard that people needed to have human contact at least 8 times a day and she wondered if it was possible to need only one person's touch. She wondered if she would shatter into shreds if she didn't get it.

All this time she spent with her friends, these gray and rainy nights in her lonely dorm room she spent buried in worlds unreal, the spectacular worlds she escaped to when she read, hundreds hundreds hundreds hundreds of books and it seemed as though she was dead; things felt less, tasted less and Éponine could sense the colors fading away day by day, leaving her behind breathless. Nothing was enough, not the hugs Cosette gave her, not the kisses Grantaire planted on her cheek and forehead, not the soft smile Combeferre gave her from across the library room, not the flames of the sun licking her, choking her gently until she was nothing – ashes of a fire long forgotten.

The good (worst) part was that the visions she had didn't go away; they were still there in the back of her mind during the day, right alongside with him and his blue blue eyes and his hands and the way he said her name. The vivid images that clouded her mind when she had been so wrapped up in him haunted her still, never ever going away but pulling back most of the time, hiding, lurking in the shadows and then rising again, washing over her and embracing her in a way that made her feel like she was drowning – what a dark ocean her mind was, where she would fight the water, swimming back to the shore but freezing when the water came to her again, the strange drug she found it to be. There was indeed something calming about the dark blue surrounding her always, the images and voices connecting in her mind like threads. There was a beat to it all, a steady rhythm that she hadn't realized she had grown fond of – the disgust and confusion that she'd felt toward these visions vanished and she found comfort in this unreal world where Enjolras loved her the way she now knew she loved him. It was the only place she could enjoy the beauty of his features, the sweetness of his rare smiles, his stern expression.

(_She never really said it - not even during the night when she whispered her secrets to her pillow – but she sometimes wished Enjolras wasn't anything but a figment of her imagination, the beautiful boy without the voice she had thought him to be for oh so many years. She thought that if he wasn't real, he wouldn't hurt her so much.)_

Everything that is real makes you ache.

oOo

("How come you and Enjolras aren't speaking to each other?" Jehan asked her one time and Éponine could feel a lump in her throat, the room suddenly shrinking around her.  
"I made him angry."  
"Why?"  
"I thought I was going crazy."  
"Were you?" He urged, his voice filled with concern and disbelief. Éponine smiled.  
"Yeah.")

oOo

She had heard the rumors of course, the whispers about their plans to take change to the next level. She'd noticed the cryptic look on their faces when she asked them about it, all boyish hope and anticipation and she could feel her heart skip a beat – there was this certain kind of familiarity about their revolution deep in her heart where there were unspoken things hidden, faces, raindrops and cockades she couldn't quite place. She chose not to place them; pretending was so nice and easy.

But she still felt a strange rush whenever she walked the streets and heard gunshots that never were, still there was a tremor when she watched the news in the evening – like she was expecting something to happen, like she was about to witness worlds fall apart and volcanoes erupt and smoke, sweet, choking smoke fill the lungs of all things that breathe – but there was nothing, every morning as ordinary as the one before and everyone as cheerful and empty as ever and yet. And yet it felt like Éponine was walking the edge of an abyss unknown to all but her.

Maybe that walk would lead her to light at last.

Éponine often wondered about these things; about the things she believed to be true and those she pushed away for they could possibly be real. She thought about the thousand thousand questions she asked each day, from herself and from others and from the sky, questions regarding the time or the weather or the vastness of our meaningless existence in the middle of a never ending and unholy universe – and it was too much.

She thought about her father a lot; she grieved him silently and alone, broken sighs and tears unshed. She knew that she loved him even though he was bad to her just as she loved Grantaire and Cosette and all her friends and Marius' cat that Joly thought was deaf – it was as though coming back from Montfermeil broke a wall down within her and she was finally able to speak of such sacred feelings, she found a way to give words to the workings of her heart. She was finally able to admit that she loved Enjolras and had loved him for _such a long long time._

Éponine wanted to laugh at herself sometimes when she thought of that and the tenderness of Enjolras's movements when he held her close after her father's death and kissed her temple – she pushed him away. Why did she do that?

The answer came unexpectedly but it was not at all unwelcome; a wild wind blew outside the window and birds didn't fly and the sky wept just as it did the night it all started. It was only right that it should be raining now.

Éponine was exhausted. She had been crazed for the last couple of days with all her school work and the unbelievable weather that made the whole town sleepy. It was a Thursday afternoon but it was so stormy it could've easily been called a night, except not as gentle, not as soft but much more lively. As soon as she got out of class she went to Grantaire's place, homeless people with shaking hands and children shrieking in their playing and the faint lights of the Eiffel tower meeting her on her way. Her umbrella was soaking wet and she could've killed Grantaire when she found that he had no umbrella stand, nope, he was way too bohemian for that shit.

She shook her head and cursed under her breath as she got out of her coat, her hair a mess.

"Grantaire, you idiot, I love you, but – oh." Éponine stopped talking when she noticed a girl a couple of years younger than her standing in the living room doorway, long brown hair and wide eyes – eyes that looked so much like Éponine's. The girl had an uncertain expression on her face.

"He's not here yet." Her voice was kind of deep and throaty and she was crackling her knuckles just as Éponine did when she was anxious. This girl was like a strange mirror, half blind and the other half seeing everything a little bit too well. "He told me to wait."

"I see," Éponine swallowed and suddenly felt very conscious of her hands because she got an urge to reach out with them and hug this strange girl. "and you are…?"

"Oh – I'm Azelma," She muttered. "Azelma Jondrette. Grantaire is a friend – an acquaintance, really."

"It is very nice to meet you," Éponine breathed, her voice lost somewhere between her heart and her mind. "I'm Éponine."

"Oh I know who you are." Azelma said, breaking into a wary smile. "Grantaire talks about you a lot."

A blink.

"He does?" Éponine was now searching in her mind for some mention of this girl. "Oh, wait, you're the girl who works at Starbucks, right?"

"Yeah. That'd be me, I guess." Azelma replied, rubbing her neck. "You, um, you want to wait for him with me? I was just watching a movie, but-"

"Sure." Éponine cut her off, full of relief and a strange warmness. "I'd love to wait with you."

Azelma nodded and turned around to go back to the living room. Éponine followed and couldn't help but stare at the girl; tiny but delicate and so so young. There was a pureness to her features, an innocence so endearing and Éponine once again felt like she knew her, this girl she'd never met before but still felt so familiar to her. The feeling she got was so very much like the one she got with Enjolras but soft, not thunder and lightning straight to the heart but a gentle cloud made of glowing memories and certainty and family.

It was silly.

"So," She asked when she and Azelma sat down on the couch. "what is this movie about?"

"Um, it's called _Brother Sun, Sister Moon_ and it's about the life of St. Francis." Azelma explained, waving with her hands wildly, a blush rising to her cheeks. Her voice was so endearing and nice to hear Éponine wanted to lean back and just listen to her talk but at the same time she wanted to jump around in excitement. Her voice… she'd heard that voice before…

"Are you like nervous or something?" Azelma inquired, frowning. Éponine realized she was shaking.

"I don't know." She replied truthfully. She was acting weird, for sure. "Um, St. Francis is the guy who founded the Order of Franciscans, right?"

"The Order of Friars Minor, yes." Azelma said, staring at the television screen with a dreamy face. "This is my favorite movie of all time; there's a lot of singing and weird faces in it but it always makes me feel so hopeful, you know? I mean, Francesco was a privileged rich boy and one day he realized that he didn't want to live like that and he left town, just walked out of the church completely naked and he was poor for the rest of his life but he didn't care because he found God. And he was happy, after all those years of being miserable, he was finally happy because he embraced faith."

All blood had been drained from Éponine's face by now and when Azelma stopped her little speech, breathing rather heavily and flustered, she spoke, her voice nearly breaking.

"So," She licked her lips, "he left all his fortune and the promise of a good future for – what? Something that might not even be real? What was he, mad?"

"Maybe he was mad," Azelma shrugged, not taking Éponine's confused comment as an offense, "but he was happy. And that's all that matters."

Éponine felt the skies shiver. The ocean was coming to her once more, waves rising, ready to wash over her and bury her in its blueness. Water, water, water-

"Why are you crying?" Azelma asked, her deep voice colored with worry and confusion. Éponine gave her a blank look.

"I'm not – oh." She touched her face and felt a tear slide down her cheek – she was indeed crying, bitterly, agonizingly but without realizing it. She wept the way Hades did when Orpheus sang the song of hurting in the underworld, the way a newborn baby cries; it was not the sign of sorrow this time but the sign that meant she felt and that now, after all those miserable hours without breath, she was finally alive.

"Oh God." She whispered. "I'm sorry – I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable-"

"It's okay." Azelma reassured her, her face soft and sweet. "Um – did something happen?"

The silence of a heartbeat skipped.

"No," Éponine breathed. "nothing happened. I just had a really long day, I guess."

"Okay." Azelma said softly, not stressing it. "I can't blame you – this movie makes me pretty emotional as well."

Éponine laughed under her breath.

"It's pretty surprising someone your age watches movies like this, Zelm." She commented, wiping away a tear – then she froze. "I mean, _Azelma_. I'm sorry, I don't know where that came from."

"No, no, it's fine." Azelma held up a hand, smiling sweetly. "I actually like that nickname. My brother calls me that."

"You – you have a brother?"

"Yeah. Well, foster brother." The young girl said softly, shrugging. She offered Éponine a tissue.

"Thanks," The brunette said hoarsely, suppressing a sob. "and what's his name?"

Azelma opened her mouth to answer but that was the moment the front door opened and the sound cheerful laughter filled the apartment. It was a sweet sound, honest and easy and warm – the laugh of a child unbroken. The two girls couldn't even rise from their seats and they were already in the living room, Courfeyrac and this little boy with golden hair and a gap between his teeth, grinning wildly even though he was wet and covered in mud. Azelma said something to the child but Éponine couldn't hear what it was – she couldn't hear anything anymore as her mind was filled with waves rising and she was in a place where you couldn't speak or hear or see for your body and your soul became the blue of the silent sea.

She was struggling no more but the sea she became, gentle and powerful all at once, her mind washing in like the tide and taking and claiming and _giving_, giving so much her soul could nearly not bear it. The water destroyed and built, embracing her and lifting her above where she could finally come to the surface and see the sweet sweet light of the dawn breaking the sky in two and her eyes fluttering and an ancient voice inside her echoing what was long gone and what was to happen and at last, at last – _memories._

She was still crying, the sea leaking through her mahogany eyes and painting her face, easing the hardness of her features, taking the weight from her shoulders, reforming, recreating her and she was fire and water all at once, falling and rising and the wind blew and birds could once again fly, high across the sky and she was free – what a glorious burn.

She was heavenly hurt and it was all because of that little boy, that sweet, innocent little person in Grantaire's living room, he was making her fly and see what had been hidden above the clouds – _Sweet little Gavroche, how could I ever forget you_, she sighed, and it was the sound of the gentle water hitting the shore, finally, finally coming home.

That boy, that blond boy shining like the sun, screaming and crying and fighting like a man with the fury of and angel and the gentle touch of the almighty – he was the key, the piece of this terrible puzzle.

He was the one that brought her light.

Gavroche was her little brother, the little baby she took care of in the night so their parents would never hear his cries, the boy so young yet already equal of any man living on the street of Paris – of another city that had been crushed and rebuilt yet was still the very same it was more than a hundred years ago.

Streets filled with the scum of the town, beggars and liars and thieves and her father and mother among them, she and her sister (_Azelma, Azelma, Zelm, Zelm, my little star_) behind them, hopeless and helpless, until-

Memories filled her mind and she drank them, this water ever so sweet, this nectar of the gods, this miracle – she felt so, so complete, so much of a whole she was bursting. She could recall that busy street of Paris where those men made a speech; Marius, Combeferre, Courfeyrac – and _Enjolras_. Enjolras, the man of thunder words, whom she fell so desperately in love with and the man she loved still, now more than ever, and now she was the water and he was the sun looking down on her, his hands radiating warm light as they touched the ocean.

(_I have found you, my love, she cried to the skies, touch me touch me touch me.)_

At last, at last – salvation. The room stopped spinning for good and Éponine was certain there would never be anything she wouldn't understand. She was a thief without a home, the girl who believed in God and books and old places more than anything, the girl who loved and smiled when her light went out.

She was Éponine Thénardier then and she was Éponine Thénardier now – so much light it could tame the sky and so many words it could fill a library. Tears and blood and cockades and raindrops – and at last, at last, smoke and words left unsaid.

Maybe she had been right and she _was_ going crazy but no madness had been this beautiful, no insanity so lacking a burden. Sweet, sweet madness, magnificent clarity – _let me burst into flames. _

Maybe she had finally lost it, but – she thought to herself, all smiles smiles smiles and every single heartbeat calling Enjolras' name – in its silent sacredness, it sure felt a lot more like _finding._


	21. Trees, Trees, They Are Us

**A/N: Wow, I am so sorry it took me forever to update, it's just that school started again so I was crazed, and I was having the biggest writer's block ever, you have no idea. I hope there are still people who read this though?**

**I'm actually not sure how I feel about this chapter because I wrote it after a month of never even opening Word, so some feedback would be very helpful, you know, if it's not much inconvenience. Also, sorry about the occasional spelling mistakes.**

**Thank you guys for everything : )**

"_Trees, trees - they are us."_  
/Welcome to Night Vale/

One of those days a tree had grown in the back of Enjolras' mind, one that he could only see when he looked into himself deep in the night. A tall, slender, and powerful tree, his leaves filled with a light that made him afraid, always trying to reach something he didn't even have a name for.

It was shaped like something familiar; it was the tree of all the smiles his mother had given her, all the scolding he'd got from his father, all the classes he stopped paying attention to because they were stupid, all the brightness of those brown eyes that were burned into his skin, all the intensity of that long-anticipated, never-were touch.

He believed he could find himself in the back of that tree, like a living, breathing root that could wrap itself around you; constantly in the darkness yet the source of all the life and light. Humans were so much like trees, he thought to himself, tossing and turning in bed; fierce and strong and beautiful, and in abandoned forests they lived, keep trying to intertwine with their brothers and sisters, branches embracing softly, never letting go but striving to touch the skies together, as though they were holding hands; bending, breaking, sighing together. And, so much like people, they were cut loose when they were so very grown into each other.

He'd heard somewhere that trees were the head of all living things, breathing sweet air and giving shelter to those who needed it, that they were, in fact,_ life_ – but whenever he caught sight of a dark haired creature frowning in concentration or laughing whole-heartedly he could feel the roots around his heart tighten as though they were trying to suffocate him (_good, good, _thenight whispered_, at least all this pain will stop_), and his whole body tensed when he heard the door of the café open because he could _feel in the very air_ that it was her. In those moments, as his breathing got uneven and his head felt as heavy as truth itself, he didn't feel like life. He felt very much like poison.

He could feel the blue of his eyes fading away, shining a bit less each day, and his posture bending as though a great burden had been placed on his shoulders and he would carry carry carry it into that blindness that was the daylight.

And the tree that only existed when dreams were washing over him threw shadows over the things he feared, rain and hurt and confusion. He was living in vivid dreams once again, surrounded by soldiers and fire and gunpowder, and he relished in that sweet yet salty scent that belonged to her, her tiny body weakened by a wound of the skies but her eyes deep enough to drown himself in, a warm brown that reminded him of silence and whenever he saw her – either on campus or in those dreams – he could feel the magnificent warmth of her skin and his hands trembled by not being able to touch and he longed to take them off and give them to her, _please take these hands, they are worth nothing, they are a like heartbeat that no one can hear or a bird that takes flight for the first time, please don't ever give them back._

The darkness was too small, so much like a room that he couldn't fit all his belongings into and in the night they found the way to get closer and closer to him until there was no air left in his lungs, and he wasn't himself in the dark, he didn't know who or what he was, but there was skin feeling much older than it was and a heart thumping in his chest and eyes greyer than ever and _he didn't understand._

Oh how he ached to take control once more, to go back to that world where he cared for nothing but rights and laws and textbooks, where all this (a girl with wounding eyes and dark brown hair) was just an idea trapped between the shadow and the soul.

That was one of the reasons why he decided to make a change. The concept of the revolution had been lurking in his mind for months and months, and that day when he was sitting in his car helpless, feeling emptied out, useless and weak and so so _angry_. There was a madness inside of him, an anger strong enough to take colors away. He was furious with her for not letting him and he was even more furious with himself for ever feeling – anything.

And this was all stupid and pointless and there were clouds above covering that part of the sky nobody spoke of, and he was hurt and confused, but the revolution and all the meetings and speeches and planning and rallying somehow felt right and noble and good and simple and it was a distraction and he felt guilty for thinking of it that way.

But one thing was true; in the daylight he could be Enjolras again, a tree tall and bright and full of strength, and all the others looking up at him had no idea how in the night he was a sorrowful willow, keep wishing to drown himself in the water of a lake.

oOo

And there she stood before her, all grace and brown hair just like her own and steady, quiet breathing; a deep and magnificent rhythm Éponine could hold onto, a glorious sign that told her how her sister was alive and that she was right there.

The rain was hitting the window still and the sky wept in relief, wept for the memories filling her mind, wept for thousands of impossible dreams coming true in one blink of an eye, wept for how strange it was that there was an old skin reaching out and a new heart beating within and Azelma, the sister who was as gentle as the evening sky, the little girl who dreamed about flying and cried each time she had to steal something – so very pure, so very unearthly Éponine sometimes wished to crawl out of her body.

There was an agony to being poor of course, as was only right; you lived on the edge of the paper, trying to fill the emptiness of your heart by eating and stealing and killing and cutting, these violent delights were your only hope to actually feel something beneath all that darkness.

But those times brought happiness as well, a feeling that was not spoken but it was said in the smiles and the tears and the curses. It was burned into the way they protected each other.

And now-

And now here she was, Éponine Thénardier (the Jondrette girl, the shadow), at last, at last in the light, surrounded by peace and hopeful things, and she loved.

She loved her brother and sister, how they were still together in this complicated, mysterious life, how they never let go of each other's hand.

She loved the color of the sky that covered all breathing things, loved the way wind caressed her skin when she walked down the street, these new legs, this new skin, these eyes that could finally see – the storm had passed and the sunshine found its way to light up the vastness of the ocean. She was drowning no more.

She loved Cosette, her best friend, the girl she envied cruelly and whom she was so mean to when she was a child, and again, who was bright and good to her that second time – she remembered it both ways and these two lives competed each other, gave her a full picture like when you connect the stars like dots on sky, drawing something true and beautiful.

She loved Grantaire, desperately and deeply, he was like a soul mate to her as ridiculous as that sounded, a piece of her that she had been missing silently all her lives. She loved his hands – the hands that belonged to a man of art, soft but ruthless and those eyes that sang the song of hopelessness and things unloved.

And she loved- she loved Enjolras and it was a feeling more alive than it had ever been, like a flower that had been filled with promises of hidden beauty and now finally bloomed to a be a glowing, blinding thing within her.

Her entire being longed, yearned to be looked at by those blue eyes, her skin burned to be touched by those hands and her heart, that violent thing letting out thunders as it beat in her chest, her heart and all the blood pulsing through her veins cried out his name, a word so full of meaning you could never quite explain it. It was a thing you just felt within.

She thought back of all those months of _almosts_ – how they searched for each other when they were together or apart, those looks of uncertainty and those hesitant touches – and that killing pain of not remembering when. Éponine pushed him away then, not being able to bear the things left unsaid, and maybe it was the right thing to do, maybe it was the biggest mistake she had ever made – but one thing she was certain of now; nothing could have happened between the two of them, nothing quite real, not without all the memories, not without knowing just how they felt-

But she chose not to think about that love right now, because even though it was taking up all space inside of her, and it made her feel that she could torn apart any second, love was still a cruel and patient thing that could wait before it shattered you.

But what she was witnessing that moment, could not.

She was still crying, peaceful tears of relief sliding down her cheeks and Azelma was eyeing her warily but intensely, almost as though she was concerned for her, mahogany eyes so much like Éponine's boring into hers – and she felt that all _this _could pierce her soul.

"You okay there, Éponine?" Courfeyrac asked, breaking the silence that had fallen on Éponine's heart and mind only. She tore away her gaze form Azelma and looked at him. _Courfeyrac_, she thought to herself, giving a name to all things familiar, _wild and good and full of goofy smiles - the Center._

"I'm fine," she breathed, her voice not feeling quite like it belonged to her, but there was an utter calmness in the way she spoke, "in fact, I don't think I have ever felt better in my entire life."

Courfeyrac made a face but smiled.

"O-kay. Anyway, Grantaire says he's running late. He's got a thing."

"A drunk thing?" Éponine asked, trying to regain her normal tone – that sarcastic and teasing, but fond way she always talked.

"Nope."

"An art thing?" Azelma asked then, lifting and eyebrow.

"Nah – it's more of a political thing." Courf explained, petting Gavroche's hair with a grin. "Enjolras is having a meeting at the café, so I'm going there, too – I just came over to drop this hellion off."

"Hey!" Gavroche called, holding up a hand in defense. "I'm so not a - wait, what's a hellion?"

"That's what we call little bastards like yourself." Courfeyrac stated with a smirk. Gavroche snorted.

"Who are you calling a bastard, you little shit-" He cried, hitting Courfeyrac on the back but the man didn't take anything of it, he just let out an amused, bark-life laugh. Éponine heard Azelma sigh very deeply beside her.

"I swear to God that kid curses like a sailor." She muttered, burying her face in her hands, and the mothering tone of her voice hit Éponine like a lightning; her sister's voice when she spoke of Gavroche and the looks she gave him were so tender yet scolding, so much like a parent to that little boy, and Azelma never used to be like that with Gavroche – it was always Éponine that tried to look after him even though he was free as a bird, a merry little creature wandering the streets of Paris with ease and a confidence that only belong to a nine year old boy.

Some things do change, then.

"Gavroche," Azelma called, "I told you not to use that word – and for the love of God, please stop hitting Courfeyrac, he's big enough of an idiot as it is."

She turned to Éponine then, her face once again bearing that uncertain expression, her eyes full of hope and an odd familiarity.

"Do you – have you met my brother?"

_Yes. Yes, of course I have and of course I know him, and I know you, the two of you are the only real family I had. I'm not sure where you end and I begin._

"No, I, um, I haven't had the pleasure yet." She blurted out instead, frowning and not knowing where to look. God, she sounded so forced.

"Gav, would you come here for a sec?"

And come here he did, all bright eyes and a wicked grin, his cheeks flushed from his little fight with Courfeyrac, his posture terrible and he walked clumsily and without much care in a way that made you think he was always running and filled with high spirit, never quite being able to stand in one place.

His was a carefree face that reminded Éponine of the gentle birds of the forest, their song merry and their flight never ending.

But when he looked at Éponine, really looked at her, his expression suddenly changed, and there was a brightness in his features that spoke of wisdom and - recognition. He seemed marveled, almost, his mouth dropping open and all the playfulness gone from his expression.

"You look awfully familiar." He whispered like it was a secret and Éponine's eyes lit up with hope and affection.

"I do?" She breathed.

"Uh-huh," He nodded, frowning slightly, making his face look all serious, his voice almost solemn as he went on, "I know you from somewhere – I just don't know where."

And then, then he reached out and that tiny, ragged little hand of his touched Éponine's cheek in a gentle, nearly wary way and Éponine was on the verge of bursting into tears again. Gavroche gave her a hesitant but warm half smile and he was looking at her intently, as though his eyes were searching for something.

"Gavroche," Azelma called quietly, a little taken aback by such a gesture, and the little boy dropped his hands.

"Sorry." He blurted out, then turned around to join Courfeyrac in the kitchen.

"So," Azelma said, uncertain, "that was my brother. I'm sorry, he's usually not this touchy-feely."

"It's okay," Éponine assured her, her cheek still warm from that little hand and sticky from all the crying. When she spoke, it sounded like a choked sob. "He's, he seems very sweet."

"He's adorable. He's just got a dirty mouth, and let's face it, the fact that he hangs out with Courfeyrac all the time doesn't help."

Éponine nodded in agreement but her eyes were still on Gavroche, who gave her one more cryptic look before leaving the room and something in her just _stirred_.

_(Children are the eyes of heaven. They can see all, they can remember.)_

oOo

Hands, that was all Grantaire could see; big, warm ones running through golden hair, hands waving frantically in the air then dropping hard on the desk; the hands of someone dark, terrible and strong, then the hands of a gentle, sudden being – hands secretly smoothing the page of a poetry book, hands holding a pen and helping it write those sweet words.

He had been at the café for over an hour and Grantaire found it almost impossible to tear his gaze away from Enjolras, the man of golden who had been working frantically ever since they got there, his eyes narrowing as he read and wrote and tore papers into little pieces and Grantaire was _aching._

It was so quite a new thing to be in the same room as Enjolras after a long while, watching him so immersed in his work, watching those hands run through his hair and unknown corners of his heart stung him.

He didn't even realize he had been staring at the man so openly until Enjolras looked up and met his gaze, lifting an eyebrow.

"Grantaire, is there, is there something on my face?"

_(God, he was oblivious and all this was stupid and wrong and not at all at the right time and he suddenly wanted to rise and paint this world all black until no one could breathe and he needed a drink real bad otherwise God knows what he would do.)_

"Apart from the obvious, Apollo, you're fine." He spat out, managing a smirk. Enjolras nodded, frowning, then went back to his work.

Grantaire swallowed hard. He'd always been good at pretending, after all.

Enjolras shook his head disapprovingly when he saw Grantaire heading to the counter to ask for 'something stronger that coffee', but decided not to say anything about it – and when he turned his head back to the table, he saw man not much older than him looking into his things.

"What are you doing?" He asked in a cold voice. The man looked up, his dark blue eyes meeting his and he gave Enjolras a nervous smile.

"I'm sorry, I was just, admiring your work. I'm a big fan."

"Of?"

The other shrugged.

"Of you, and what you guys are doing. I think it's very admirable – I actually heard the speech you gave about the great revolution a couple of weeks ago, and I found it very intriguing. Most people supporting the idea of a new revolution would praise Robespierre, not talk about how wrong he was. I was impressed."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, suddenly interested in this strange man.

"Do you take in interest in the history of France?"

"Absolutely," the man nodded, "especially the political side of things."

"But you're not a student, are you?"

"Nah, I already graduated a couple of years ago," he grinned, "but I'm very interested in politics still. That is one of the reasons your movement caught my attention – you are right, change is upon us."

"And would you like to help our cause?" Combeferre asked, walking up to the two of them, his voice calm as ever.

The man smiled at Combeferre.

"Yes, I would very much like to participate – if you let me, that is."

"Do you know what the last words of Marat were before he died, when Charlotte Corday killed him?" Combeferre asked.

The stranger lifted an eyebrow.

"'_Aidez, ma chere amie!_' Why?"

Combeferre beamed and Enjolras couldn't help but a smile a little himself; his friend loved these random history facts and whenever he found someone who shared this interest, he was beyond happy.

"Well," Combeferre said solemnly, "'help me, my dear friend'."

"What's your name?" Enjolras asked then. The man gave them a lazy smile before he replied.

"You can call me Javert."


End file.
